Distortion
by PeanutNinja
Summary: In world where everyone wears masks and has ulterior motives, is it really possible to find the truth? Spencer decides to toy with reality, but perhaps the consequences will be much higher than he anticipates.
1. Chapter 1

_"Whatever you do in life will be insignificant. But it's very important that you do it"_ Mahatma Gandhi

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><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

"Hotch I can't do this" a frustrated voice exclaims, it's at the end of the day and dusk is approaching. The two men sit facing one another, the man in the suit is pleading while the man in the cardigan is adamant.

"Calm down, think about this please" Hotch says, struggling to keep his voice steady. The last case has been hard on all of them and reports are just finished being written up. His office looks unusually cheerful and cosy, the wrong setting for the distressing scene taking place.

"I… I… no… No I can't do this, it's…" he faulters,

"We don't have any other agents fit for the job" Hotch says, he looks at Spencer, imploring… no pleading for him to stay. Reid stands shakily,

"I'm not up for this, this isn't what I signed up for Sir" he says, Hotch stands up and looks at him.

"This won't work w-"

"No Sir" he sighs "I liked this job, really I did but, this… I'm sorry Hotch. I didn't sign up for this and it's too soon." He walks towards the door.

"Please think over this tonight" Hotch says.

"I'm sorry, I've given you the files" he leaves the room, Hotch follows.

"Reid I need you to think about this" he calls, walking after him but the young genius is fast. He's trying to rationalise this, fighting the urge to pinch himself to make sure this isn't an all too real nightmare. He doesn't see how reality can make this feasible. A small voice at the back of his head reminds him that the team are watching this, that their eyes glued to the mini drama unfolding.

"I've told you Hotch, I won't do it" Reid makes his way to his desk and picks up his shoulder bag and other possessions.

"Reid, what's going on man?" Morgan asks. Reid glances at Morgan before throwing the contents of his desk into his satchel. Ignoring team members hasn't been outside Reid's newly adopted characteristics in the past week.

"Please reconsider Reid, just take an extended vacation" Hotch is standing next to him, he turns to face him, growing nervous at the audience.

"A vacation won't work, I can't get him out of my head and it's driving me crazy" his voice is uncharacteristically emotional, his face is going red and he wants to leave before he embarrasses himself in front of everyone, "I need to get away from this place, now, Sir" Hotch stands for a few minutes, unsure of what to say and knowing that nothing can console the angry and troubled young man before him.

"Are you certain, Reid?" he asks. Reid nods and picks up his stuff.

"I quit, I've handed in the papers and I've thought this through, I resign" he says and walks towards the exit, leaving Prentiss, JJ and Garcia shocked.

"Reid, what the hell?" Morgan calls and Reid know's he's catching up with him.

"There's nothing to say, just leave me alone" Reid said tiredly and opens the door towards the lifts, his ears aren't oblivious to Garcia, JJ and Prentiss's protests.

"Sir you can't just let him leave?" he hears JJ almost shout.

"You have to stop him, you can't get rid of my Junior G-man" Garcia wails.

"He isn't thinking straight, just give him a few days" Prentiss says as calmly as she can manage.

"He's an adult he can do what he wants" Hotch says as calm as usual. Reid gets into the lift and looks at Morgan's hurt, confused face, he finds he really can't care less. He presses the down button on the lift and takes one last look at the BAU, his former home.

When he gets to the car park he places his things in his car: his overnight bag, his satchel and the things that couldn't fit in it, like the picture of the team at Christmas, the books he'd brought from home. A black little tube rolls out of his bag and he smiles fondly at it before cramming it back in. He'd been meaning to read more on physics magic. When he's done he sits in the cold vehicle, staring ahead of himself. He can't bring himself to turn the ignition, or for that matter form any thought to do with leaving, turning the keys will make the scene before him scarily real. So he sits, completely numb. The only sound in the car is his breathing, in and out, in and out.

Without warning he opens his car door and steps out, locking it behind him. He walks to the exit of the car park and goes to the outside of the building, staring at it. He remembers how happy, nervous he was when he first joined, how he felt it to be a home. Now he feels alone and scared, treading in the dangerous waters of the outside world. He knows he can get employment anywhere he chooses, but he's still fearful. He leans against the wall of the building and feels his head come in contact with the rough surface. What does he do now?

He watches his breath escape into the air and dance in the atmosphere, it's cold - freezing - but he doesn't make any attempt to warm himself. Lately, he's found it hard to care about anything, his job, his co-workers. He knows he's being insensitive but it isn't as if he could help it, its like a different person from Dr Spencer Reid has taken over. He fills his lungs with more cold air and breathes it out slowly, like you would with a cigarette. This unexpected apathy is what's driving him mad, not Tobias or Charles or Raphael. Sometimes he has to roll up his sleeve to make sure he hasn't, somehow, in his sleep perhaps, gotten hold of dilauded. Not that he feels good or anything, more that he feels nothing. He wonders if he punches his fist through his car window if it would hurt.

He doesn't raise his head when he hears footsteps coming towards him, they're late anyway, but only by ten minutes or so. He turns his head slightly, although he can't see the person in the light, "You've passed, well done" they say, and they sound like they mean it. "You know where to go and what to do from here?" they ask and Reid doubts they would fill him in if he didn't.

"Yes" Reid says, he feels like a school boy.

"You cannot let us down" they say. He thinks about replying to this but finds he doesn't have the energy. He has to leave before the others arrive and question him anyway. The person walks away, and after a few more breaths of air Reid goes back to his car and starts the ignition. He rubs his eyes before driving out of the parking space. As he turns away from the BAU towards that diner on Richmond Street he feels stabs of regret, of sadness trickle through him. It travels down his nerves and puts him on edge. It's the first emotion he's properly felt in days. But he's tired of constantly being scared.

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><p>Hotch sits at his desk, writing out reports, his mind is elsewhere. He managed to disentangle himself from the team and their questions and accusing eyes. He knows Garcia will try and stop the resignation from going through, and that Prentiss will use all her contacts to try and find him. He thinks about Reid, the kid is beyond reason. He puts his pen down and shuts his eyes, since Hailey left he's been working later and later. He's noticed Reid's behaviour change over the past few weeks, he's becoming more withdrawn, and snappier but not just at Prentiss this time. It was like the few weeks after the Hankle case, but that had been months ago and Hotch had made sure that Reid was better. He had been sure that Reid was clean but somehow Doubt, as he promises, creeps into Hotch's mind until he's unsure whether Reid really is okay or not. He sighs, it doesn't matter now. He's really just waiting for the office to clear so he can go home, he isn't in the mood for paperwork. But he doesn't like returning to an empty house either, he'd rather return to an angry Haley than an empty house. His thoughts make him feel tired and old.<p>

But Reid is the last straw. He is a valued member of the team and Hotch never thought they had made him feel otherwise. Of course it doesn't matter now, he's gone. He wishes he'd checked if he was alright or not, or gotten Morgan to do it, or even Prentiss or JJ seeing as they were a lot closer now. But Reid hasn't been letting anyone in these days, instead retreating into himself, in fact, Hotch doubts whether or not Gideon could fix this even if he was still here. He sighs again and sees that the office is clear, but decides he doesn't want to go home yet. Hotch goes and gets himself another cup of coffee then heads back to his office to play chess on the computer. The computer, somehow, always wins. He knows he's being stupid, that he should be getting ready for tomorrow when David Rossi, his old mentor, starts working with them, but, he decides, he needs a break.

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><p><strong>This is just a random idea that floated into my head that Please_Insert_Name challeneged me to write as a story. I'm not sure what to make of it so please tell me if I should continue. Hope you enjoy and please read and review.<strong>

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Criminal Minds, sigh.**


	2. Routine

_"Tomorrow, you promise will be different, yet, tomorrow is too often a repeat of today" James T. McKay_

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><p><strong>1. Routine<strong>

Mornings aren't the same anymore.

She walks into the BAU, the same brusque pace, the same tired face. But there's something missing. Something that draws her up short when she enters the BAU. Something that won't escape her mind when she has those moments of thought that are meant to bring peace. The empty desk right next to hers in the middle of the bullpen. She thinks that by now Hotch would have gotten a replacement for Reid, its obvious he isn't coming back. Garcia had tried months ago to stop his resignation coming through, but to no avail. Although, if it was a success it wouldn't have mattered, they haven't seen Reid in the flesh since he left that night, full of anxiety and torment in a scene they would never have seen coming.

Emily goes to get her usual coffee, black with two sugars before turning back and heading to her desk. She wonders how things have gotten so repetitive, so robotic ever since Reid left. She never knew him well, and she knows she doesn't have as much of a right to miss him. At first, after the Hankle case, she would have happily punched him many times after being the brunt of snappy comments and almost arrogant looks. She'd learnt however to ignore them, she knew from the few prior cases that this wasn't the SSA Dr Spencer Reid that everyone else had known, and in the end she felt sorry for him and tried to like him. Her face broke into a grin when she remembers the black tube hitting her head, the second time it landing at Hotch's feet.

She sits down at the desk and stares blankly at it for a few minutes, work is still fun but it has become just that: work. They no longer have someone to tease about chopsticks, she no longer has someone who gets her Star Trek references, other than Garcia, but she rarely appears on the field. For Emily things have taken a manner of routine, a manner she doesn't enjoy yet knows she will never voluntarily leave this job. She likes to think they'll hear from the missing agent again, a dissertation, a book, a teaching post, anything! For now, Reid has disappeared off the face of the earth, and Emily wants to, she so desperately wants to believe that she'll see him soon. But that sort of instinct, coincidence, is left to the books and movies and as she hears the flurry of computer keys and a hungover Derek Morgan wander into the BAU she's reminded constantly that this is real life.

When she turns around ten minutes later she sees that Morgan's already at work, although by work she means sitting, staring blankly at a computer screen hoping Hotch won't notice he's almost, if not already, comatose. She takes a few sips of scalding, bittersweet coffee before reaching for her paperwork. "Prentiss, how was your weekend?" she turns to see Morgan awaiting an answer, and she savours the small distraction from the inevitable start to the working week.

"It was alright, quiet, just relaxing after the last case, yourself?" she replies.

"I went out… Regretted it" he says grinning, she smiles back.

"You're in you mid thirties and you still don't know how to handle alcohol, tut tut tut" Emily jokes.

"At least I didn't stay in like an old lady!"

"Old lady! How dare you-" she starts, they get more animated as the conversation moves from the 'friendly co-workers' zone to the 'friends' one.

"Now now my children, no fighting" Garcia walks up to them a smile on her face, "Keep it up and you'll both have to face my wrath" Emily wonders how she can be so perky in the mornings… And how she can wear florescent green, although she could never call herself a goth now, brightly coloured clothing was never something she welcomed with open arms.

"She started it"

"He started it" Emily and Morgan say simultaneously. Garcia just rolls her eyes, her reply lost as JJ walks up to them.

"Conference room, now" she doesn't stop to talk however, and all but sprints to Hotch's office.

"What was that about?" Emily asks, surprised at the abrupt manner of the usually friendly Media Liaison.

"I'm not sure I want to know" Morgan says getting up anyway, "Come on Baby Girl, old lady" he says grinning.

"I am not old!" she objects.

"No, you're both five, now go to the conference room, I don't like a stressed JJ or an angry boss man" she says and gets up to go to the room. Emily trails behind them, and when she sees the grave looks on JJ and Hotch's faces she knows the case will be particularly nasty or complicated. She takes her seat near the front, but before she opens the file she squashes her emotions down into a certain part of her mind. Her compartmentalising method probably wouldn't be deemed healthy by several well qualified psychiatrists, but it works, and now fully prepared, she opens the file.

"In the past year nine men have been murdered, the latest one showing up just this morning. The LA police department have called us in, they thought at first it was a gang war, however as more murders have been committed they noticed similarities between the crime scene that are unusual to gang killings. The latest victim is Robert Mason aged twenty five. His body was found in Hunter's Square, a well known place for shootings. The other victims: Damien Marshall, Ralph Daniels, Jack Smith, Philip Taylor, Declan Morris, Andrew Evans, Tom Davies and Iain Scott were all found near Hunter's Square each in clear view of passers-by. The coroner confirmed the men were beaten to death and their bodies dumped." Emily looks at the men on the projector, it wasn't everyday that victims were beaten to death, or in fact that there was this many.

"Has there been any escalation in the murders?" Rossi asks.

"The unsub killed Scott in September last year, Davies two months after, Evans at New Year before waiting until April to kill Morris, and after that it was only a month later Taylor turned up. The killing seemed to stop for two months, but in the past two weeks Smith, Daniels, Marshall and Mason have turned up. Mason and Marshall's murders were only three days apart at best" Emily looks around the room and sees everyone looking grave, she inwardly sighs knowing this case will be tense, stressful and hurried. The escalation of the killings is unreal, and she hates working under such a stressful deadline At the same time part of her doesn't care, she never knew the victims and doesn't have to speak to the families on her own. She doesn't think that level of detachment is always healthy, sometimes it's good to be affected. She knows things have gone to far when nothing phases her. As she looks back up at the beaten images of the men, their bodies painted with bright purple splotches, red - felt tip pen like - lines and in positions reminiscent of a B-movie gangster film she feels a slight shiver creep up her back. But she inwardly smiles. She's still alive.

"Right everyone wheels up in thirty minutes" Hotch says before leaving, they get up and Emily drinks the rest of her coffee. She knows she isn't the only one to miss the frequent moments of random statistics given to them. She sees the others serious expressions and knows the case isn't going to be fun. Although she reasons it must be sick to think that any case would be.

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><p>In his office Hotch is pacing, everything has to go just right on this case or Strauss will bury him alive. He looks at the team getting ready to leave, and he knows they think he should get a replacement for Reid, but he hasn't found anyone that can match Reid's brilliance. That said he knows there aren't many people out there anyway with Reid's level of intellect. Hotch sighs, it's been seven months ,before he picks up his bag and walks out of the office. After this case he will find a replacement.<p>

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><p>They go over the case as usual on the plane, "The bodies were dumped in relatively open places, and so the unsub wants to be noticed" Morgan stated.<p>

"The murders are particularly aggressive and violent. The killer's probably in his early twenties to early forties" Prentiss offers.

"With this level of violence I'd say the killer is male. I know women can also show a certain level of violence, but I doubt it possible for a female unsub to do this alone. Did you say all the targets were members or local gangs?" Rossi asks JJ.

"It says they were, but it doesn't say which gangs they belong to or if they're all the same" JJ says,

"I don't think this unsub would be in any gangs. Perhaps he wants to join one, but was refused. By leaving them in well populated places, shows he wants to be noticed, maybe to prove himself. His love of the attention indicates narcissism, and if that is the case he would find it impossible to take orders, " Hotch says.

"Not good gang material," finished Rossi.

"So the unsub is male, between twenty and forty, narcissistic and incredibly violent" Emily summarises.

"Ok when we land Rossi I want you and Morgan to head to the crime scene, I'll got with Prentiss and JJ to the police department. Prentiss and I can get started on a geographical profile and victimology, whilst JJ I want you to interview the victims relatives and see what sort of people the victims were" everyone nods and goes to do their own separate thing. Morgan listens to music, JJ reads a book, Emily sees Rossi and Hotch talking in low, hurried voices. She looks out of the window and is greeted by soft, blue sky. Sitting back in her chair she shuts her eyes, and without meaning to she hears Hotch and Rossi's conversation;

"Are you sure about this?" Rossi asks,

"We needs a replacement for Reid, the others have been asking me about it and Strauss has been getting on at me"

"What about aft-"

"I haven't had any word for him, but I think he's on vacation" Hotch says hurriedly.

"An eight month vacation?"

"At the BAU Reid didn't know the meaning of vacation, besides he resigned and he won't return anyway"

"Shame, I would have liked to have met him" she hears Rossi say, the rest of the conversation is lost when it's announced the plane is starting to land.

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><p>The sun leaves everything with a humid air and Emily feels, when they exit the airport, as though her lungs are getting a cardio workout just by breathing. She likes warm countries like France, but there's something about cities where the pavement feels sticky, the sun relentlessly beats down on you, and makes your limbs sluggish as though you were underwater which she detests. She wonders how Hotch can stand to wear a suit in this weather, on the other hand the only evidence she has to suggest Hotch isn't an android is Jack, and even then he could have been adopted for all she knows. Dismissing the ridiculous thoughts from her head she tries to focus on the case. Nine men have been murdered, and they're expecting a body perhaps in the next week or so. The unsub is clearly out of control and Emily shivers again, control is a strong point with her, she needs it. Perhaps, she thinks, that's why she joined the law enforcement, knowing another bad guy was locked away, always having to keep composure and knowing if she lost that control, the unsub most likely would kill her.<p>

They drive in black SUV's to the station, despite the air conditioner on full the black metal of the car is still boiling to touch. She sees that JJ feels just as uncomfortable in the heat "How do people survive in this?" she asks Emily, Emily shrugs.

"The Middle East is hotter, but still I have no idea" she replies.

She goes back to staring out of the window, watching the people in shorts and vests crawling to their fixed destinations. She looks at the young, tattooed and confident males, knowing that the man in the white vest or the boy with the blue cap could be killed next. She feels that detachment again, a detachment that would probably make Reid proud.

When they arrive at the station they're introduced to Police Chief Carmichael, he lets them set up in the conference room which is already filled with the case files of the previous murders. Prentiss lets her eyes survey the room. It seems like she spends hours looking at it but in reality it's only a few seconds. It's a room, she imagines, that is usually quiet. The carpet feels springy, the whiteboard clean and the room smells of fresh paint. There is a small box window in the centre of the room, it lets in a minuscule amount of light. The boxes are full of files detailing previous arrest records of the victims and post mortem reports. She sighs quickly and a small, accidental shove from JJ causes her to spring into action. Animate her momentarily unmoving features. She opens the lid to first victim - Andrew Evans - and is greeted with a list of criminal charges like Aggravated Battery and Public Aggression as long as a piece of string, she reckons that the list of injuries sustained from the unsub would be about half the length of string. She shuts her eyes, and as if saying goodbye to the Emily that played hide and seek with her mother in France on that rare day she had off, she slips into a professional mode and adopts her role as Supervisory Special Agent Emily Prentiss. It's going to be a long day.

And the day has never felt more routine.

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><p><strong>AN: Ok I'm sorry I've taken so long to update but I've been studying for a major exam which was either a hit or a miss and I've been ill, fun times! <strong>

**Anyway thanks to those who've reviewed, alerted or favourited it means a lot to me seriously, I grinned like an idiot :D, yeah kind of like that. I apologise that this was from Prentiss's view but I just need some chapters to set up the story and I apologise for this chapter, I've never written a case before and all the places I've mentioned and people are all obviously all fictional. In terms of gangs and everything my pitiful knowledge comes from Brothers in Arms (season 4) and Middle Man from seaons six where it talks about pack mentality so most, if not all, of this is creative license. I apologise for any grammar and or spelling mistakes, I think I've lost the spell checker on the document manager thingy... Anyway, I hope you enjoy and please tell me what you think, the next chapter is from Reid's perspective :) and seeing as all I've done is apologise I think I'm going to go get scrambled eggs, toodles.**

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing, Criminal Minds belongs to... Well whoever owns Criminal Minds... Yeah :/ ...**


	3. Georgia On My Mind

**2. Georgia on my Mind**

He thinks, perhaps, if he could just stop shaking that he could… He would…

His body slumps back against the wall in defeat, and he stares with dead eyes at the white plaster wall in front of him. His whole body is shaking, he's waiting for Paul to arrive, until then he's stuck in a junkie limbo somewhere between withdrawal and clear thought. If his body stops shaking what could he do? He looks at the uninspiring room, the answer, for now, is nothing, and Spencer realises that perhaps shaking is better. He's sitting on the floor, having found it impossible to remain on the thread bare couch any longer. The sunlight streams into the room but he stays in the shadows. "Reid, open up". He knows it's Paul, but Spencer doesn't move, pain is beginning to shoot down his limbs, explode in his joints like fireworks and, as he stares at the splintered wooden floor, he sees the floor boards begin to blur as Nausea finds her footing. He hears his front door being battered some more, but he knows, in the end, that Paul will just pick the lock.

Until then Spencer lies in limbo, the events in Georgia on his mind. Tobias, Charles, the drug all attack like bees swarming faster and faster. He killed people, he chose them to die, he chose Hotch to die. With a burst of energy he didn't know he had he sits up, his knees to his chest while running his hands through his hair, as if, somehow, he can drag the memories out of his head and watch them scatter like ashes to the ground. Then all he has to do is sweep them up, put them in the bin and remind himself that they're dead and gone, perhaps then he could return to the BAU. Of course he knows that's impossible, Morgan's police record was expunged, his won't be and he knows they'll have a replacement. Some other smarter, younger, un-coordinated, genius freak. He flinches as the door bangs against the wall, and is then slammed back into it's frame.

"Are you trying to destroy my flat?" he asks, Paul walks into the living room.

"You're doing a pretty good job of i- You sold the TV?" Spencer doesn't know why Paul's so agitated, he only got two channels at best. "Why not the couch?" he asks.

"I need a place to sit" _and sleep _he adds mentally. "Anyway I need something" he says after a few minutes of silence, pain is shooting down his spine and he wonders, panics, that it might break his bones, even thought logically he knows that isn't possible.

"You always do" Paul sighs, Reid watches as he sits on the arm of the couch "What do you want?"

"Dilauded"

"But you said-"

"Well I changed my mind, alright? I can't do this so just give me it!" he's almost shouting by this point, the pain is getting to the unbearable stage and he wants his oblivion. He sees Paul looks nervous, and with energy that can only be mustered from desperation he leaps to his feet. "Come on, please please please, you know I hate begging" he says.

"I've got a couple of pills" he says "I threw out the vials."

"Why?" Spencer's face shows his panic.

"Well you said you wanted to quit and-"

"Did you really think I was being serious" he starts to pace. He may be desperate but he is still a genius, and being around people as thick as the likes of Paul makes him wish with all his might that he still had a gun. "You see it time and time again that everyone who says they'll quit never does."

"I thought you were being serious."

"Well I thought I was being serious!" he snaps, Paul takes in the tall, thin, shaking man before him. Most of the time he's certain he could beat him to a pulp, but the desperate glint in Reid's eyes suddenly makes him doubt his abilities now.

"Fine, here" he pulls out the back with the pills in them.

"It's not enough" he says.

"Well that's all I've got, we can go round to Martin's later" Reid sighs before reaching for them but Paul takes them out of his grasp, "Money first" he says.

"How much?" Reid asks.

"Fifteen."

"But there's nothing there!" Reid splutters, thinking perhaps the withdrawal has killed him and he's in a lower circle of hell.

"Take it or leave it" Paul says flatly, knowing Reid has no choice. He pulls the money out of his back pocket. Paul hands him the pills and he rushes to the bathroom and locks it, "I don't see why you don't want people to see you shoot up" Paul yells from the other side of the door. Reid isn't entirely sure either, and as he grinds the pills into a fine powder he reasons it's the secrecy of it. Perhaps if he's alone, and no one can see him do it, that the team won't find out, not that he'll ever see them again, but it's a mental paranoia that he knows he should be worried about.

In the small, cramped bathroom he goes through the motions. He gets water from the tap and sits, his legs are bent and pushing against the bathtub, his head near the toilet bowl just in case. He heats up the solution, stirs it with the needle, drops the cotton ball into it then sucks up the liquid with the needle. He breathes deeply, for a minute he's forgotten the fierce withdrawals that plague his body. For a minute he's alone in the world, taking part in a ritual that will bring him to a twisted form of liberation. He sets the needle down and unbuckles his belt. Examining his arm he looks unflinchingly at the reddish purple bruises at his elbow. Then he pushes down the plunger before taking out the needle and loosening the belt.

The needle drops the to the floor with a small ping which echo's throughout the tiny room, "Reid are you alright?" Paul asks, but the words are lost on Spencer. He isn't in the bathroom, he isn't even Reid, Tobias's words echo back to him;

'_Tell me it doesn't make it better'_

And he can't answer because it helps, it helps more than he thought possible. In his deprived state the pills proved enough and he finds himself suddenly shooting forwards through space and time, hoping this time it will lead him to peace and serendipity. Faces from his memory have faded, places and events melt into nothing.

"Reid" he hears but it's far away, as though he's underwater.

He isn't Supervisory Special Agent Dr Spencer Reid anymore, he stopped being him a long time ago. He isn't Dr Spencer Reid either, here he isn't Spence or Spencer. He's just Reid. Reid that tall sickly looking twenty something. The stoned loner that never bothers to speak to anyone, yet is always on the receiving end of worries and plans. Spencer doesn't know why they tell him things. Perhaps it's because he doesn't have anywhere to go or anyone to tell, perhaps they think he's too out of it to listen or that he won't remember. He doesn't care though, company is company whether it's whores, drug dealers or gangsters.

The knocking grows sharper and Spencer stumbles to his feet, he places everything where it belongs and puts his belt on. He unlocks the door and grins at Paul, suddenly his company has never seemed so... Wanted. Paul gives him a shaky grin "I thought I had a corpse on my hands for a minute" Reid doesn't reply but walks past him, into the living room and throws himself onto the couch. He lands with a thud which would have hurt if sober. Paul takes the chair and watches as Spencer lies almost lifelessly on the couch, his hand touching the floor while he eyes stared at the ceiling. "Jesus, that arm was clean last time I saw you" he hears Paul say, when was the last time he saw Paul? He tries to think but his brain is full of fog. "How much do you use?" he hears him ask, perhaps slightly disgusted.

"Enough" Spencer says listlessly, he sits up slowly so not to be sick. "I need to get more though" he says, Paul nods.

"It's two we can stay here a little longer" he says before standing up and heading into the kitchen. Spencer hears him opening and closing cupboards and the fridge, it's almost like the beginning of a symphony. "Do you ever eat?" he hear's Paul exclaim.

"Do I look like I eat?" Reid asks, a small part of his mind registering that there is something wrong with living on dried cereal, noodles and coffee. He picks himself up and rolls his sleeves down, "Come on, lets just go."

"Fine, but your buying food" Paul says. Spencer sighs, for his lack of brains he almost makes up in a brotherly concern for Reid, he can't say it's unwanted but it reminds him scarily of Morgan. They walk out of the flat and down the stairs. Paul drives, Spencer wants to but knows it isn't a good idea, he's managed to avoid getting sent back to jail in the past four months. He sits in the car and after five minutes in it he already feels as though he's melting into the seat, he fiddles with the half broken radio until he finds a decent station. They drive in silence, the car heads up to the motorway and Reid recognises with a sickening lurch the song that plays on the radio.

_"Still in the peaceful dreams I see, The road leads back to you, I said Georgia, oh Georgia, no peace I find, Just an old sweet song, keeps Georgia on my mind"_

His muscles tense and for a minute he can see Charles glaring down at him, smell the damp earth, hear the shouts that he sins, feel the fear that chokes him in the night and touch the cool spade in his warm hands as he digs his grave. "This song is dull" Paul states and tries to change the station, but Reid swots his hand away.

"Just leave it, I like it" he says, his voice uncharacteristically shaky and high. He sounds more like Dr Spencer Reid that he has in a long time and Paul notices it.

"You ok?" he asks.

"I'm fine" he snaps, his voice returning to that of Reid with Ray Charles's singing still playing in his ears. They drive faster.

He'd never forgotten Georgia or the events, he'd just pushed them down in his mind and his work had kept him pre-occupied of thinking about it throughout the day. But now, as they drive along the highway with the sun beating down on them mercilessly, he recalls them like he can maths equations. Even in those seldom peaceful dreams he's reminded of the danger, a glimpse of a brown haired, brown eyed man, or the hint of a cabin, the movement of a shadow. They will never leave him, but he knows as well there's always that next hit, that next dose to keep the nightmares at bay and until he takes more than he can handle he'll always repeat the cycle. He knows he wouldn't be the first with a brilliant mind to destroy it, he thinks of F. Scott Fitzgerald, Howard Hughes of course he knows that he will never live up the their greatness. He sits in the car seat despondent, knowing full well that Paul thinks he's coming down. Paul's lack of faith in him irritates him. "Did you hear that Robert's dead?" Paul asks, Spencer lifts his head.

"Who?"

"You know Robert, Robert Mason" Reid dimly recalls a man with messy black hair and a blue ink sleeve tattoo. It always made him shiver, his tattoo hurt enough, but a sleeve… Reid had long given up trying to appear manly.

"I think so" he says vaguely.

"You think so?"

"Well I only met him once" Reid says again a little irritated.

"Stop biting my head off I'm doing you a favour" Paul says, Reid wants to say 'You didn't have to' but knows that isn't sensible and that Paul is completely up for pushing him out of the car.

"Sorry, I'm kind of nervous."

"S'ok" he says.

"Anyway what about Mason?"

"He's dead" this makes Spencer sit up a little more and take the conversation seriously.

"Really? There seems to be a lot of…" he trails off, his stomach drops and he feels as though his blood has momentarily turned to ice. Paul doesn't seem to notice this time.

"Tell me about it, first Jack, then Damien, and now Mason. Mike thinks that there's other guys been killed, from Phoenix's bunch"

"Have they all been killed the same?" he asks with a strange clarity, forgetting for a minute he's Reid and climbing back into the awkward skin of SSA Dr Spencer Reid, he feels oddly homesick from it.

"I think so yeah, all beaten in the past few months, stopped for about two months anyway why are you so interested?" he asks, Reid shrugs.

"I told you I studied Criminology at college before dropping out."

"What one?" Paul asks.

"Just a community college in Vegas, I wasn't smart enough to go anywhere else" he admits sheepishly, but really he feels like dashing his brains out against the burning hot dashboard. "How long until we get there?"

"Uh… I'd say twenty minutes" Paul says as they turn off the highway. Reid sits back and stares at the never ending rows of traffic that the car is moving to greet. His mind is successfully distracted from his next hit for a moment, he knows the murder's aren't random and that means a serial killer and a serial killer most likely meant the BAU. It means old memories will be dug up, it means four disappointed faces and Garcia's angry disapproving voice circling his mind. He knows he'd be lucky to avoid them, he lives a few streets away from Hunter's Square.

They spend fifteen minutes snaking there way through the line of traffic before turning down more deserted, dejected, dilapidated streets. Paul stops at a mini-mart first and forces Spencer inside, "Do we have to?" Spencer complains as he wanders around the store grabbing coffee, cereal and noodles.

"It's for your own good" Paul says, he looks at Reid's basket, "You can't live off that."

"I do, I can and I will" Spencer replies determinedly. Paul sighs, forces him to shove some fruit into the basket, rolls his eyes at the excuse "Vodka is technically vegetable" and makes him join the queue. "It's made from potatoes" he comments needlessly, he honestly doesn't care about it, it's all the same ethanol in the end. He remembers drinking Jack Daniels when he was seventeen with college friends, while waiting for his doctorate results. He remembers a glass of brandy glow red in a jazz club in New Orleans when his friend Ethan pointed out how transparent he'd become. Out of all of these he prefers the gruelling taste of rubbing alcohol, the burn of it is like a punishment, and the cocoon of nothing that envelopes him like a reward, a prize for living with life for so long. He knows when he does die his money goes straight to his mother, in fact he has enough in his bank to start anew, but something still keeps him clinging on to this life, the drugs and alcohol pumping through his system at night and the dry retching the emptying of it feels in the morning. Perhaps it's because he can't fall any further from this point, he doesn't really know.

As they leave the mini-mart and drive to Martin's where he will be reunited with his liquid relief he thinks. The BAU, Georgia, dilauded and his mother swim around his mind. He realises he's had enough of thinking straight for one day. They pull up near some broken housing estate and climb the stairs to the flat, there are others there Reid can hear them moving and talking. They knock on the door and Martin answers "Reid, Paul" he nods and they walk in. The coffee table is covered in white powder that three men Spencer isn't sure he knows are dividing into bags. "What can I do for you?" Martin asks.

"Dilauded" Reid says quickly and Martin smiles in a way that makes Reid want to hit him. That smile taunts him every time he withdraws, taunts him now as it reminds him he can't escape.

"I thought you were going to quit" he smirks, Spencer takes a deep breath, imagining the air is a calming agent that won't get his temper up. He knows, God he knows, that Martin's in that mood where he could deny him and watch him suffer. Spencer notes he's a typical Alpha male, he likes to remind his subordinates whose in charge, yet he'll always take care of his own, and although Reid is just 'that awkward loner' Spencer knows he's considered one of them in the end.

"And it looks like that failed" Spencer says quietly.

"Stay here awhile, I'll have some by seven" Martin says, Reid notes the time as four, nods and thanks him before sitting on a chair outside the loop.

Throughout the afternoon many people come and go, Reid watches them all and for a few hours he can pretend he's a profiler again. He sees sociopaths, narcissists, people with inferiority complexes and neurotics. He listens in on the conversation when it turns to the murders, "I think it was Devon" thug number one says,

"He has an alibi" Martin says.

"What about Michael?" thug number two asks.

"Could be" Martin reasons.

"I thought it might be Angel, you know he might have a grudge against them, they all beat him a few times" Paul suggests.

"Angel's a wimp that needs to grow some balls, he wouldn't dare do this" Martin shoots the idea dead. Reid knows that all of the suggestions are wrong, all those men are classic sociopaths. Reid thinks the killer's a narcissist, which leaves him with a number of people; Jamie Lucas, Holden Tyler, Dean, Zack, Drake or Peter were all possible suspects. He would believe it to be a woman if he didn't know the bodies were beaten to death, that amount of violence, especially against strong men that Reid knew could snap him like a twig, is very unlikely. "Reid, Reid what do you think?" Reid sits up a little.

"Huh? About what?" he asks.

"About the bastard killing everyone" Martin asks, the whole room turns to look at him, Reid shrugs.

"I… I dunno, I don't really pay attention to these things" Reid says, everyone but Martin swallows the lie easily enough.

"Come on, you may be out of it most of the time but you must have heard something" Martin says in disbelief. But Reid shakes his head.

"Sorry I don't know" Reid says, a knocking at the door saves him and an instinct - junkie instinct as Paul calls it - tells him it's the dilauded. He knows Martin never goes to meet buyers personally, that way if they're busted then he has time to escape. He sits up a little straighter and looks eagerly at the door, ignoring the snickers at his sudden change in posture. Martin calls him into the hall way and sure enough three clear little vials are sitting in his hand, other drugs are scattered in the darken bedroom behind him. Martin gives him the price and Reid eagerly pays. He waits in the small hallway for Paul and Martin to finish their business, in the meantime stroking his hands against the cool glass of the vials to calm his excited nerves.

When the business is done they walk out into the cooling streets, they drive home in silence. The radio playing songs from the eighties that Reid barely recognises but Paul sings along to. He sits slumped in the seat, the shaking is starting all over again his thoughts a minor distraction. He hasn't opened an educational book in months, and the break from constantly stuffing his mind with knowledge almost feels good. Out of the corner of his eyes he swears, he swears he sees a black SUV, but it's gone in a second and he wonders if he's going crazy. They arrive back at his flat late and climb the stairs quietly. Paul makes Reid eat first, noodles softened in cold water - he hasn't paid the electricity bill again - and cereal, Paul smacks his forehead with the palm of his hand when Reid suggests they use the vodka in replacement for potatoes and refuses. They eat it in the living room, the matchbox of a kitchen only containing a broken cooker, two counters and a sink.

Before he gives in to the building need, he thanks Paul for driving him, Paul shrugs it off and says he'll visit tomorrow - 'cadaver search' he calls it. Reid then locks his door and escapes to the bathroom with the dilauded and the vodka. As the needle breaks his skin all over again he thinks, for a fraction of a second, that he wants to go home, to the BAU. But then as he shoots forward through the galaxies, viewing the constellations, as Tobias sits next to him, telling him it makes him feel better, he ignores these pleas. "It makes me feel better, Tobias" he whispers in the empty bathroom.

And Spencer realises, after he stops shaking, that he will do something, something meaningful, something imperative.

He'll just try not to loose his mind as he struggles to pick up the pieces, shattering in the rush of euphoria.

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><p><strong>I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I apologise for any grammar and spelling errors<strong>. ** Please tell me what you think. Also thanks to those who have reviewed, alerted or favourited this story, I really appreciate it :D.  
><strong>

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing Criminal Minds sadly isn't mind and neither is Reid since last Tuesday when he escaped from my attic :(.  
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	4. Progress

_"A man who does not think for himself does not think at all" Oscar Wilde  
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><p><strong>3. Progress<strong>

Tuesday is different.

She doesn't wake up to the sound of her alarm screaming to her sound sensitive ears, instead she rises at half six when the sun is beginning to say hello to a new day. For once she isn't tired either, a rare event in itself. She lies in her bed and watches the sun creep along her still body until she is fully bathed in LA sunlight. It's then she decides to get up, stretches, then heads towards the shower. The water is warm and she lets it stream down her face, her muscles completely relaxed. For a few minutes she allows herself to be Emily, just Emily. Not Prentiss, not Supervisory Special Agent Prentiss, not the ambassador's daughter. And as the water trickles through her hair, down her shoulders and back, she realises how easy it could be to convince herself she is just Emily, just here on a holiday rather than another case. For a minute she can return to being the girl in the garden who played hide and seek, who hung around with anybody she could find, who learnt to be independent. But as time progresses and the water cools it's as if Reality, in a cold liquid, begins slithering down her, she isn't Emily, not anymore. She's SSA Emily Prentiss.

She meets the others downstairs and they head from breakfast, the progress from yesterday, she remembers, was next to none. They arrived at the station jet lagged at seven in the morning when most cops were starting the new day. By the time they'd been brief on the case and visited the crime scene they were exhausted and at five called it a night. As they sit down to breakfast more refreshed Hotch, who Emily wonders if he ever sleeps, tells them what to do. "Rossi and Morgan go and to the morgue and look at the victims, JJ you interview the rest of the victims families and see if their any similarities between the men, Prentiss and I will do victimology and a geographical profile" she wants to tell Hotch that travelling as a child and speaking various languages does not automatically make her an expert on maps. Still she agrees and as she sips her coffee starts day dreaming that Reid will somehow walk into the hotel and take the responsibility away from her. She has no such luck and finds herself, an hour later, in the police conference room staring helplessly at a map of LA, or part of a map of LA, searching it desperately to see if it was the right one.

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><p>The cold air of the morgue is beautiful and, for a minute, David Rossi ignores the fact that they're here to visit dead bodies and, instead, imagines he's walking in a park on a cool day, where the sun is shining, trees are swaying, an attractive blonde bends over- "Rossi, man, we're here" silently cursing Morgan, Rossi walks into uncomfortably cold morticians room. They find him just washing up after looking at the last body "Mr Fitzgerald?" the Coroner turns "We're with the FBI I'm Agent Morgan, this is Agent Rossi, we want to see the victims recently beaten to death."<p>

"Ah, yes I was told the FBI was involved" the Coroner says, he's a small man of about thirty, balding with glasses and has the distinct air of someone much older than their age. Morgan and Rossi walk to the table "This is Robert Mason, found yesterday but I suspect you already know that" he has an awkward manner, as if he never really learned how to act around others so choose an occupation in which reduced living human contact.

"Did you find anything unusual about the body, any marks that didn't seem to fit?" Rossi asks, he glances at the body of the beaten man, his skin is covered in a blanket of bold, violent colours.

"No, the men, all of the men, were beaten to death in the same manner. The bruising" he points to the almost black splotches on Mason's torso and face "are rather peculiar. The men were taken out from a blow to the back of the head that appears to be done by a blunt object, yet the killer then seemed to beat the victims, as you can tell from the arms, with general debris from the alley."

"Are all the other victims similar to this?" Morgan asks.

"Yes, they all have the same blow to the head first, then the beating with what appears to be objects that he could have found in any backstreet alley, bin lids, glass bottles, broken crockery..." The Coroner says.

"So the unsub took them out from behind and beat them once they were unconscious" Rossi says, thinking quickly "He's organised, comes with a weapon and an intent but why use the other objects, why not just use the initial weapon?" muses Rossi.

"I have no idea" Morgan says, "Were there any other similarities between the victims, other than the manner of death?" Rossi looks around the dark room, despite the cool air he's never liked morgues.

"Yes, uh, you've probably already been informed that they were members of gangs?" the coroners says, suddenly becoming animated.

"Yes" Rossi says, slightly unnerved at the man's eccentricity.

"The men belonged to three separate gangs, each with a tattoo on their upper arm" the Coroner points to Mason's right arm, revealing a black Phoenix "Mason, Marshall and Scott have Phoenixes, Smith and Davies have a cross" he says, walking to the draws and opening various ones revealing different tattoo's "And Daniels, Evans, Taylor and Morris have sharks."

"How many gangs are in the area?" Morgan asks.

"I'm not sure, the Police Chief will know" he says apologetically.

"Alright, thank you for your time" Rossi says, the Coroner smiles awkwardly and they leave the room. "Morgues always creep my out" Rossi confesses when they're walking up the steps to the car park.

"Then why get a job that requires almost weekly visits to one?" Morgan pries.

"The bodies don't disturb me, it's just the atmosphere" Rossi deflects, wanting Morgan to focus on the case. When they get back to the SUV they begin analysing.

"If the unsub knew what gangs the victims belonged to then perhaps the men were targeted specifically?"

"We can ask Hotch and Emily when we get back to the station" Rossi says, wondering if there is a blatant connection between the victims then how it was possible that they missed it. They drive the rest of the way in silence, lost in their own speculations.

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><p>As JJ and Officer Matthews walk closer to the house she's surprised to find it middle class. Not to stereotype things but she hardly suspected that Robert Mason would be rich, or at least have parents who were reasonably well off. She would have arrived yesterday but they lived so far out that once all the other interviews were done Hotch had called her and told her to go to the hotel. They walk up to the door, knock and wait. It isn't as humid in the neighbourhood and the fresh smell of flowers is beautiful in comparison to exhaust fumes. The door opens to a man and woman JJ suspects to be in their early fifties at least. "Mr and Mrs Mason?" she asks, they nod "I'm Jennifer Jareau with the FBI and this is Officer Matthews, I was hoping you could answer some questions about your son Robert for us" she says, the man shakes his head and walks away, Mrs Mason stays.<p>

"Benjamin won't have anything to do with Robert, I don't mind answering questions" Mrs Mason says wearily. She leads them into an impressive lounge, a mantle, flat screen TV, various ornaments and photo frames, none of Robert JJ notes. "Please sit down" she says and they comply.

"Did you keep in contact with your son Mrs Mason?" although JJ feels she already knows.

"Five years ago Robert fell out with his father and they didn't speak after that, I tried to stay in touch with him every now and then but it was difficult." she sounded tired, as though this is a story she has to repeat often.

"Would you mind telling us what they argued about?" prompts JJ.

"Ben wanted Robert to go to college, he passed his exams top of the class, but Robert, for some reason, decided to get a job and move in with his girlfriend Tanya. They had a big fight about it, Ben said Tanya was dangerous but Robert didn't seem to care, it was as if he wanted that sort of life" she says.

"What sort of life?" JJ asks.

"Tanya is a pole dancer. Robert could have went to Harvard but instead he chose to join a gang and live in a dead end neighbourhood, it doesn't make any sense. I thought it was just a phase, he wanted to relieve some of the pressure on him and that he'd be over it soon but he never left" Mrs Mason shakes her head and JJ suddenly has an intense feeling of pity.

"How was Robert as a person?" JJ asks.

"He was smart, sensible but he had an awful temper and could be arrogant come to think about it. He was a relaxed sort of person, fun loving but I imagine he changed of course."

"What makes you say that?" JJ asks.

"I don't imagine the life he was choosing was one of jokes and fun and games, do you? I just wish things had played out differently" she says.

"I'm sorry for your loss Mrs Mason and we are trying to find the person who did this" JJ says, Mrs Mason nods and JJ inwardly sighs, knowing as always that it's never much of a consolation.

They exit the house and get back into the car, JJ sighs at the list of victims families wondering why the police department took so long to call them in.

* * *

><p>They were making progress… Then they weren't… Then they thought they were making progress again… Then they realise it's the wrong map. The conference room is littered with maps of various parts of LA, not one of them the part they're looking for. "I give up, we need Reid" Prentiss says, "Have you had any word from him?" she asks Hotch, Hotch shakes his head.<p>

"Nothing" he says, looking at the map, not wanting to give up but knowing that the piece of paper has beaten them. He walks out of the room and asks an officer to help them with the maps, when he finds the right one they get started on the profile.

"Ok Robert Mason was found in Hunter's Square, thought to be killed in an alley off Charleston Street" Hotch finds the places on the map.

"They're only three streets away" he mutters.

"Damien Marshall was found in a park near Bank Street, thought to be killed in an alley off that" Prentiss says, and watches as Hotch finds the places on the map. When all the victims are placed they observe the board.

"There's no clear pattern" Hotch says.

"But look at where they're killed and where they're dumped. He would wait until they were in an alley and kill them before placing them in a obvious site."

"He wants recognition for what he's done, but he isn't brave enough to kill the men in the light" Hotch summarises.

"So he's intelligent and attention seeking" Prentiss says, "But he takes the victims when they're in dark alleys, although lack of light wouldn't be a bonus, they would be on their guard there."

"Maybe the unsub enjoys the hunt, sees it as more dangerous but still safe" Hotch says, they sit down and look at the files. Rossi and Morgan return as they're reading them.

"The men were all attacked from behind and each belonged to three of the four gangs in the area" Morgan says.

"Does that mean the fourth gang members are in danger?" Hotch asks, wishing they had names, no matter how stupid they would have been.

"I don't think so, what if this is a member who wanted to kill off rivals?" Prentiss asks.

"No, the unsub attacked from behind but dumped the bodies in obvious places, he wants attention but he's scared of a head on confrontation, but leaving Robert Mason in the middle of a square and Damien Marshall in a park suggests he's getting more confident. Anyone who wants attention that badly probably isn't in a gang but wants to prove himself" Hotch says. Morgan and Rossi sit, "What did you find at the morgue?" Hotch asks.

"The victims were attacked from behind with a baseball bat but then when unconscious were attacked with random objects like dustbin lids and glass bottles" Rossi says.

"Maybe the unsub wants to hurt the men but knows he doesn't have enough time to torture them so he improvises" Hotch suggests.

"Or maybe he wants to have power over them but knows in reality he isn't strong enough to overpower them while conscious" Prentiss suggests.

"Why doesn't he kidnap them then?" Morgan asks.

"He probably doesn't have the means, he's most likely as poor as everyone else" Rossi says.

"Guys, I interviewed the families of the victims, they had different backgrounds but all of the men were overconfident to the point of arrogance and short tempered" JJ says, wearily stepping into the conference room.

"What if the unsub's a narcissist" Morgan theories, he remembers someone suggesting it earlier but at the time they never took it that seriously "If the men are arrogant he might not be able to be in a close proximity to them."

"That's a bit extreme though, the unsub already attacks his victims from behind and the victims can't be random, what if all the victims at one point had a conflict with the unsub. It would explain why they were targeted, show he's a narcissist and that he's physically weak" Prentiss suggests, Hotch nods.

"A narcissist wouldn't be able to work in a gang very well, his sense of himself would put him in conflict with the leaders but his physical weakness would make him unable to participate in a fight." Rossi says, they sit back and think about the profile, assessing what holes there might be.

"Do we know the gangs in the area?" Morgan asks.

"I was told by Carmichael that there are four main gangs, they identify themselves depending on their tattoos" she walks over to the map "The one west of Hunter's Square have phoenix tattoos, the one's South have crosses, the ones East have sharks and the ones North have snakes."

"None of the victims had snake tattoo's" Morgan says.

"Maybe the unsub feels loyal to this particular gang, maybe he couldn't join them but feels connected to them" Rossi says.

"That's uncommon of a narcissist, they only care about themselves" Hotch says.

"Unless, maybe a close family member is in a gang, like an older brother or something" Prentiss says. Hotch stands and walks out to Carmichael, she had been so focused in her work that Prentiss had forgotten the heat which hit her violently. The air became humid again and her desire for a cup of coffee diminished. When they see Hotch returning they stand up.

"Carmichael's just gathering his men and we'll give the profile in five" Hotch says, his face as grim as ever and Prentiss notes, with a fascinating curiosity that he appears slightly nervous.

"Should I set up a press conference?" JJ asks.

"I don't think it would get the message across, the people being targeted by the unsub probably don't watch the news that often" Hotch says and Prentiss feels slightly sorry for JJ who goes to get herself a cup of coffee.

* * *

><p>In five minutes time Morgan finds himself standing in front of the police officers, waiting to give the profile. He feels oddly tired, that in mind he hasn't had a vacation in awhile and although he's been to Los Angeles before the sun always wears him out. "We believe the person you are looking for is male and between the ages of twenty and forty" Hotch says and suddenly the room springs into animation.<p>

"He'll be arrogant and narcissistic however he is not physically imposing" interjects Prentiss.

"Because of this he won't get along with others and the vicious way he attacks his victims suggests he wants to torture them but doesn't have the means, he is most likely unemployed" continues Rossi, watching as the police officers quickly take notes.

"We've been told that there are four gangs in the area, a member of each of the gangs but the one North off Hunter's Square has been targeted, this causes us to believe that he is close to that gang in particular and maybe has a sibling who is a member" Hotch says, Morgan inwardly sighs, show time.

"The killings suggest that he wants to prove himself by killing them with various weapons. As the men were attacked with a baseball bat first it suggests that these men were targeted. We think that these men represent someone in the unsub's past who beat him or humiliated him, his narcissistic personality would not allow himself to let this go. However the initial blow to the back of the head also suggests he is too weak to take them out from the front."

"You need to look out for men between the ages of twenty and forty. The unsub will be proud and have a very high sense of himself even if he doesn't look remarkable in the slightest, he will probably have a scrawny build and appear weak. He may belong or feel incredibly loyal to the gang North of Hunter's Square but he may not, they could just be the next target. Thank you for your time" the policemen disperse and Morgan walks towards Hotch.

"Agent Hotchner" they turn to face Carmichael.

"What are the chances that this unsub is loyal to a specific gang?" he asks.

"We think it's very likely but at this stage we don't want to rule out anything" Hotch says.

"We know that the gangs tend to meeting during the day before going out at night, we know they somtimes meet Martin Sandersons flat which is about a mile from Hunter's Square. You said the unsub wouldn't be a gang member but he might like to hang out with them none the less" they watch Hotch deliberate for a few moments.

"Hotch I think it's a good idea, it's definitely something and if the unsub strikes again while the men are in custody the we know it's not them" Rossi encourages.

"Alright, we'll go" Hotch says and walks with Carmichael to set everything up. Morgan's oddly excited, there's something he likes about raids, he thinks it's the adrenaline rush and the thought of the unknown.

As they make their way into the cars heading North, Morgan feels the rush of adrenaline intensify as he's reminded how much he loves his job.

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><p><strong>I'm sorry for how late this chapter is, I've been running behind and I've just got the best Spock lookalike hair cut ever (unintentional obviously) so I will be hiding indoors for the next few days or weeks :P.<strong> **To those who have reviewed, alerted and favourited thank you so much and I'm sorry I haven't had the time to personally thank you, to be honest I've forgotten if I had done that or not. Anyhoo, I hope you enjoy this chapter, Reid is up next as well as all the other POV's mixed together. Hopefully everything will be a lot clearer. Until then live long and prosper young Jedi's *with tears in eyes* my trekkie father would be proud :P. I apologise for any grammar and spelling mistakes and I hope you all enjoy. I really hope this case makes sense actually as I tend to avoid them like the plague. Just one more thing the reason I never gave any names for the gangs, as frustrating as it may be, is this is something comepletely alien to me and it's difficult for a country bumpkin to come up with gang names, the closest we have to gangs are sheep and cows living in the same field, yup that is truly living life in the fast lane.  
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**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing, this story is purely for fun, although whether it is sadistic or not on Reid's part is open for debate.**


	5. In The Sun

_"I picture you in the sun, wondering what went wrong. And falling down on your knees, asking for sympathy. And being caught in between all you wish for and all you've seen. And trying to find anything that you feel that you can believe in" _In The Sun - Joseph Arthur.

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><p><strong>4. In The Sun<strong>

"Do I have to?" Reid asks, he's nervous, and his palms are slick with sweat.

"You don't have a choice," the voice on the other end replies, Spencer paces up and down the hall his agitation making itself known.

"But I don't wan-" he starts.

"I need this to work, do it," they say firmly, Spencer sighs, recognising that he has been beaten.

"Fine, I'll go, this better work and you better handle it," Spencer says giving in.

"It will work," then they hang up. He looks at the mobile, it's a disposable one, he never kept his old one in case Garcia managed to track him down. He scratches the crook of his elbow absentmindedly. His head is pounding, he never finished the vodka, his alcohol tolerance being too low to entertain such a thought, instead he wanders aimlessly to the bathroom and gets a vial from under the sink. He isn't sure at what point it was that he started shooting up every time he wanted to feel good rather than out of need. He isn't sure when he started to feel okay with it either. When the high takes over he isn't sure of anything anymore, the point is that nothing matters and nothing ever will matter. After a few moments he clears up and stumbles into his living room, the pain from his hangover is gone but his head is rushing forward so fast he holds onto the couch so's not to fall. He wonders if this is what Warp Five is meant to feel like.

He doesn't hear Paul knock at the door, in fact it isn't until he's standing right in front of him that he withdraws from the numbness to notice his friend's presence. "Reid, Reid are you alright?" he sounds far away.

"Fine," he laughs, wondering why Paul's frowning and disagreeing.

"I was just going to check up on you, but I can't leave you like this, not after last time." Last time flashes briefly in Reid's head, punching his kitchen window to see if it would hurt.

It didn't.

"Last time was months ago." It was. Before jail. Before he really spiralled downwards. But Paul doesn't listen and drags Reid to the door then pauses.

"Put a jumper on" he says.

"But it's warm," and it is, his face is flushed and he feels dehydrated.

"You are not going out with your arms like that, put a jumper," Reid sighs and figures fresh air might be good. He wanders, tripping at some points, to a matchbox bedroom. In the corner is a small pile of clothes, he finds his old Cal Tech hoodie, it's still too big for him. He puts it on and goes back to Paul.

"Cal Tech?" he asks, Reid looks down, inwardly cursing himself.

"I got it at a garage sale, figure it'd be warm," he says and Paul doesn't object, for once not having heating comes in handy. They walk down the stairs, Paul putting his arm around Reid so he doesn't fall, then climbing back into the tiny, beaten up car. "It's too warm," Spencer moans.

"Too bad," Paul says in a tone that reminds Reid suddenly of Gideon. He'd been deliberately pushing the man out of his mind, not wanting to imagine Gideon's face if he ever saw what he'd become. Although part of him is unsure whether he'd care. He went away, left them just like his real father, and if Spencer has learnt anything it's to depend on no one but yourself.

"What will I do there?" he asks.

"Play dead like you always do," Paul snaps, and Reid considers the fact that the man might be annoyed at him. He sits up a little, he can't tell the atmosphere in the car, it's as if he's on the other side of a glass wall but he knows he has to say something, anything.

"Why do you always check up on me? And look after me? I'm not your brother or anything?" Reid asks, it's a question that's been puzzling him for awhile. He hears Paul sigh.

"You're an idiot, a complete idiot but somehow, despite that, you're a smart kid. You're a complete ass but there's something about you that makes hanging around with you worthwhile. You remind me of my younger brother and sometimes I wonder that if I look after you then maybe you won't end up like him." It's the most insight Paul has ever given him into his life.

"I'm not worth it, honest," Reid counters feebly, slumping back down into the seat again.

"Too bad kid, it's not like I have anything else to do is it," Reid stays quiet. He already knows Paul is right.

The flat is busy, Martin is giving orders, and Reid sits in a corner while they go through business. In his visits to reality from the opiate high he watches the behaviour of the men. Martin gives orders and everyone obeys, he can tell the gang members from the non-members, yet even the independent ones follow him like fish. He sees that most are happy to follow, the sort of men that live their life taking orders, never taking initiative. He looks at those he suspects of the murder, Jamie, Holden, Dean, Zack, Drake or Peter. Dean and Zack take orders like the rest, not appearing narcissistic or even bothered at being told what to do. He sees Martin hand bags of white powder to Drake and Jamie, they take them without objection, they aren't gang members and view Martin as their equal.

In the end he thinks it's either Holden or Peter, neither are members, yet they both gravitate around the authority figures like moons in orbit. When they think no one's looking they act superior, but when they speak to authority they're meek with little arrogance. They aren't obvious in it, it's the little gestures like the eyes and aura. Reid sits back into the broken chair, his deductions hardly matter he knows he can't go up to the police station and tell anyone, that would be dangerous and he could get arrested himself or run into the BAU. Spencer learnt a long time ago just to trust them, they always get the right person in the end. In the meantime, he lets his mind wander into the mist of nothing.

* * *

><p>They arrive outside the house with police officers and a SWAT team, they'll arrest more than they'll interview. They only want the non-gang members, the narcissists, the physically weak ones. The police officers surround the building while the SWAT team lead the way up the stairs with Hotch and Morgan. They climb the stairs and from a floor below they hear Morgan kick down yet another door and the commotion of voices, "What the fuc-"<p>

"Freeze, FBI, put your weapons down," it's Morgan, Emily swears that man enjoys his work too much.

"What's this about?" she sees, as she enters the apartment, that a tall black haired man is the questioner.

"This is in relation to recent murders near the area," answered Hotch, as the men are rounded up and arrested.

"What the fuck? We aren't involved in that!" the man shouts as the SWAT team try to arrest him.

"You have the right to remains silent anything you say-" The anonymous voice drifts off as Emily walks into the living room where more members are being arrested. She's just about to leave when she notices a man in a chair. Her heart beats faster when she sees the mismatched socks, he's wearing faded, torn jeans and a grey CalTech hoodie. She only knows two people who went to CalTech, and Garcia is definately not male. His eyes are shut and his dirty blonde hair needs washed, after examining his face and realising she really is staring at Reid she almost drops her gun.

"Prentiss come o- Reid?" it's Morgan's turn to be surprised. At the mention of his name he opens his eyes blearily, not a hint of recognition flashes in them.

"What's going on?" he slurs ever so slightly, "Where is everyone?" he asks, looking around before falling back onto the chair. Prentiss looks uncertain at Morgan who unwillingly springs into action.

"Spencer Reid, you have the right to remain silent anything you say can and will be used ag-" Emily watches as Morgan almost picks Reid up and cuffs him. Each word is like a punch in the gut, over and over. She feels a little sick.

"What did I do?" he asks uncertain, his movements slow and clumsy.

"Morgan what's taking so long?" Hotch asks, walking to the small room. Emily turns to see Hotch's reaction, she prides herself on her compartmentalisation, but resigns herself to the fact that Hotch's is on a whole new level. He blinks about three times. Then becomes animated again.

"Should we take him in? We know he doesn't fit the profile" Morgan asks, Prentiss looks from Morgan to Hotch and then back to Reid who seems to find the floor fascinating. Hotch nods.

"He might know who the unsub is," Hotch reasons as they lead him out of the flat.

"Look at him Hotch, I doubt he knows where he is," Morgan says, his voice steady, but his eyes showing how much saying those words hurt him.

"Still he could be of use, we have to try it. You know as well as I do that you don't just stop being a profiler," Hotch persists and the matter's dropped. Of course it doesn't stop the shock spreading like a malignant tumour. They climb back into the various cars, their heads miles away from the up coming interrogations.

"It just doesn't make sense it…" Morgan trails off, "It's like," but Emily never learns what it's like as Morgan trails off again unable to find the words or the willpower to continue.

"Remember before he left he was snapping at all of us," Prentiss says.

"Yeah but that must have been because of Gideon surely," Morgan says weakly, the words sounding forced to their ears, oppressed by the truth.

"But he was like that after Tobias," counters Emily, Morgan brakes at the red light and turns to face her, his expression stressed and hostile.

"What are you trying to say?" Emily sees that even though he knows, he needs clarification to make it real.

"Maybe he was using again, the hospital told us after the Hankle case he had dangerous amounts of dilauded in his system."

"But why would he take it in the first place? It was just PTSD," Morgan tries to convince himself.

"If he was injected with it enough he would have developed an addiction quickly, you said it yourself in the apartment that he barely knew where he was."

"But this is Reid we're talking about," Morgan says, still unwilling to believe it but knowing he has no choice.

"And you know the mechanisms of addiction as well as I do, knowing the difference between right and wrong doesn't matter," Prentiss argues, yet she wonders why she's arguing with Morgan in the first place when she herself can't believe it either.

When they arrive at the police station it's as if they're looking at the after affects of a tornado, men and women run about like beetles trying to restore some kind of order. They follow Hotch to the police chief, "I need you to release any of the gang members," Hotch says.

"But this is the first time we've managed to arrest Martin Sanderson," Carmichael protests.

"I know arresting him is important to you, but we need to catch the unsub before he strikes again," Hotch's gaze turns steely, and the Chief blanches.

"Alright, alright," he relents and goes to release the men. In the end they're left with Jamie Lucas, Holden Tyler, Dean Stevens, Zack Arnolds, Drake Miller and Spencer. They meet in the conference room before interviewing the suspects.

"Why don't we get Garcia to look over the suspects records and see if there's any family connection," Morgan suggests.

"What about Reid? Does he really need to be here?" JJ asks, paler than usual.

"He was hanging out there and I want to see if he picked up on anything" Hotch says, Morgan frowns at Hotch's assessment, the kid barely knew who he was when they had arrived. "We know that Red isn't the unsub, but the police here don't and we can't just let him walk free so that involves interviewing him like a suspect and getting a background check from Garcia," Hotch explains, and Morgan wonders how he can remain so calm. Morgan dials Garcia's number.

_"Welcome to the Palace of Knowledge this is Tech Goddess Penelope Garcia speaking how may I help?"_ the cheerful sound of the tech analyst makes the team forget their confusion towards Reid. But only for a moment.

"Baby Girl we need you to look the records of the following men, Jamie Lucas, Holden Tyler, Dean Stevens, Drake Miller, Peter Caulfield and" Morgan pauses and glances at Hotch,

_"Is that all?"_ Garcia asks uncertainly, Hotch looks at the team seeing that none of them are willing to tell her.

"We need you to look up Spencer Reid's recent files as well" the line was silent for a minute.

"Baby Girl?" Morgan says,

_"You mean Spencer Spencer? My Junior G Man?"_ she all but shrieks.

"Yes Garcia," Hotch says.

_"What's he don- why is he being arrested? How did you find him?"_ Garcia asks.

"Look this doesn't matter Garcia, it's the files we need," Rossi says, he doesn't understand the fuss, Reid was just a colleague right?

_"Files, yes files,"_ they heard her type for a few moments, _"Ok I've got them and I'm sending you them now. It looks as thought the men have been in and out of jail, violent, caught dealing"_

"I haven't known Reid as long as most of you but that doesn't sound like him," Prentiss says uneasily.

_"It isn't I… I haven't opened his file,"_ Garcia says nervously.

"Garcia we need the files on Reid as well, we know he's not the unsub but the police don't," Hotch says, wanting to give the woman a shake.

_"But, but it's private,"_ Garcia says then sighs and they hear further typing. _"Oh my God…"_

"What is it Garcia?" Hotch asks. He's getting irritated by this, he doesn't want to believe it anymore than the rest of them but knows they have a job to do.

_"This can't be Reid... It says here he was arrested four months ago for Aggravated Battery, he was caught and cautioned after being in possession of dilauded, in the past seven months he's been hospitalised once for a broken nose and another time for a broken hand, I'm sending you the files now"_

"Thanks Garcia" Morgan says, breaking the silence that had greeted Garcia's findings.

_"No problemo, just bring our boy home,"_ she hangs up. They share glances none of them really comprehending what they just heard.

"Aggravated Battery? Reid?" Prentiss echoes, Morgan looks to see even Rossi is shocked, after all the kid is meant to be a scrawny genius. JJ gets the files from the fax machine, she flicks through them.

"None of the suspects are related in any way to the members," she says dejectedly. They all turn to Hotch, waiting for a decision.

"We'll interview Reid, see if he has an idea, if he does it'll save time," Hotch says at last, Prentiss, Morgan and JJ glance at each other. The Police Chief walks in.

"What's your plan?" he asks.

"A former colleague of ours Spencer Reid was arrested."

"He used to be FBI? Your kidding right?" Carmichael's eyes widen in surprise.

"Yes he did, we thought we should interview him first, and see if he has any ideas of who the unsub might be. Agent Rossi can lead the interview as he has never worked with Reid, and will therefore be unbiased," Carmichael shakes his head.

"Your not going to get anything out of that kid, trust me, I'll bet that guy from Momento could recall more than him," Carmichael says, "But go ahead, it can't hurt to try," They file out of the conference room, wary and raising their emotional shields. Each step makes Derek feel sicker and sicker. Their footsteps echo off the walls as the room gets nearer, it is inevitable, and they have to do their jobs no matter how hard this will be.

Suddenly Morgan doesn't enjoy his job as much.

* * *

><p><strong>To any readers I have left I am really sorry I have taken so long to update, I have definately not given up on this story. I've had a lot of exams recently, the last one finished on Wednesday so I am free until university in September :D. I hope you enjoy this chapter, I never liked it that much, it was more of a bridge. The last chapters of this story are definately my favourite. Anyway I'll post the next one soon, I promise. I apologise for any grammar and or spelling mistakes.<strong>

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing, Criminal Minds does not belong to me, sadly.**

**Please_Insert_Name/Beta note: Please review, I spent a while looking this over and so if I go prematurely blind then it would be nice to know it was worth it in some sense! Also, due to my impending blindness it is possible that I have missed a few things, just give me time to run from the grammar police and I will be grateful :D  
><strong>


	6. Pure Narcotic

_"You have me on my knees, You have me listless and deranged, You have me in your pocket, You have me distant and estranged. I'm sorry that, I'm sorry that I'm not like you. I worry that I don't act the way you'd like me to"_ Pure Narcotic - Porcupine Tree.

* * *

><p><strong>5. Pure Narcotic<strong>

She stands in front of the one way mirror staring at him, his head is down and she wonders if he knows Hotch and Rossi are in the room with him. Their voices are easily heard from the other side of the glass, and JJ notes his voice isn't slurred, it's clearer. "Why am I here?" she hears him ask, if it were any other situation she'd be happy to hear his voice.

"We're investigating a serious of murders," Rossi said, Reid lifts his head slowly as if the action takes the utmost effort.

"You think I was involved?" he asks, looking at Hotch as if he should know who he is but doesn't. He glances at Rossi, and JJ sees his stance change, she sees Reid cower ever so slightly, in the dark light she sees his face turn slightly paler. "You are David Rossi, _the_ David Rossi?" he asks and for a second, just a second JJ sees Spencer as he was, that geeky but lovable guy who nervously asked her to the Redskins game, the one that got so excited over Star Trek as if he was a little kid.

"Reid, this is Agent Rossi, he returned to the BAU to replace Gideon, but this isn't important-" Hotch interjects.

"I read your books in college and your new one a few months ago, they're fascinating," Reid says, he looks as though he's nervous, yet it's being suppressed at the same time.

"Reid, I need you to focus, six men have been murdered." Hotch says sternly.

"Agent Hotchner and I were wondering if you had any idea who the killer might be?" Rossi asks, JJ watches as Reid shakes his head.

"I don't know, I don't really pay attention to these things," he says.

"Reid we already know about your criminal record, would you like to explain that?" Rossi asks, hoping if somehow they go him talking he might sober up a bit or at least come to a realisation. They wait for his answer but Reid doesn't reply, he just stares dopily at the table.

"Reid," she hears Rossi call, "Reid," he says a little louder.

"Huh?" his eyes focus again and he looks back at the two agents, "What?" he asks.

"Why were you arrested six months ago? Aggravated Battery doesn't seem like something you'd be capable of," Hotch says, he takes awhile before answering as if he's trying to collect himself.

"You already know people are capable of unbelievable things," Reid mutters, then he looks up and JJ notices something in his demeanour change. He's less spaced out and dazed, more serious. He smiles at the two men, it's more of a smirk, and JJ knows that Spencer intends for the whole team to see it. "They're behind the glass, aren't they?" he said softly.

"Who are?" Rossi asks.

"Morgan, Prentiss and JJ, they're behind the glass," he says, his voice is even yet his eyes look… confident, not scared or anxious.

"You can wipe that smirk off your face," Hotch says sternly, and the smirk goes but the defiant look in his eyes stays.

* * *

><p>Morgan looks at Reid, his little brother. He can't associate this man with Reid, he isn't Reid, well at least not the Reid that they knew. He knows the confidence is fake, it's the small glint in his eye that gives it away, inside he's screaming.<p>

"Why were you arrested?" Hotch asks again.

"My dealer was out of town, his replacement ran out of dilauded and I got angry," Reid states simply. Morgan shuts his eyes and hopes when he opens them he'll realise this whole case was a distorted, twisted day dream. Even his voice is arrogant, a trait he'd never have applied to Reid. His brain protests still that this isn't real, that it has to be a set up. Morgan knows after the Hankle case that Reid was struggling, and suspicions of drugs had never been far from his mind. Yet to see Reid to this extent, to see him so far gone is… It is insanity. He doesn't know though why he keeps protesting it, it's just a feeling in his bones that this isn't right. Rossi's incredulous tone brings him back to the present.

"You broke a man's arm because he never had your drug of choice? It says here he was twice the size of you," Reid shrugs.

"I needed it."

"So you'll admit you're an addict?" Rossi asks, Morgan knows this is driving further and further from the investigation at hand yet none of them can seem to help themselves.

"What does this have to do with the investigation? Why am I here?" he asks clarity dawning.

"Our unsub is physically weak, has vendetta's against someone whose wronged him in the past, he isn't rich and we suspect he's a narcissist," Hotch says.

"Yes that sounds _exactly_ like me," Reid says, it takes everyone back, Reid never uses sarcasm. Ever.

"Do you know anyone who might have those personality traits?" Rossi asks, Morgan sees the weary glance he gives Hotch, and it strikes him quite suddenly how close Hotch is to completely losing his infallibly stoic temper. Morgan had assumed, somehow, that Hotch would be able to keep his temper in check, however, apparently this is proving a harder task than first thought.

"No," Reid says, and Morgan can see him trying not to smile. He had never thought there would come a day when he would want to punch Reid and not regret it.

"Think Reid, come on, you have an eidetic memory! You gave us the clues when Hankle tortured you so I'm pretty sure you can give us some insight!" Hotch all but yells, slamming his hands down on the table. Out of the corner of his eye Morgan sees both Prentiss and JJ jump, apparently Reid hadn't been expecting the outburst either, or perhaps it was the mention of Hankle that caused him to go pale.

"I was never around them that much," Reid says quickly but Rossi shakes his head.

"It's more than that, you're almost scared to rat these men out, why? The man we're looking for won't be your dealer and he'll be the same build as you, you managed to break a man's arm therefore I'm sure you'd be able to defend yourself," Rossi says, Morgan sees Reid throw him an uncertain glance.

"Everyone grows up with a sense of community, to rat one person out is death," Reid says simply.

"How will they know it's you though? As far as their concerned you're an addict who isn't here half the time!" Hotch says, pacing back and forth, if today hadn't been so weird already Morgan would have been worried about Hotch's pacing.

"They talk to me, tell me things because they think I don't listen," Reid says, "They don't know I have an eidetic memory."

"I've been told you're a genius, but you sound like an idiot. They don't know you're smart, we do so tell us," Rossi says, Morgan sees Reid deflate a little after being called an idiot from Rossi, but he doesn't object. In fact he notices that the kid's done a completely one eighty, from arrogance to nervousness in ten minutes.

* * *

><p>The tension in the room is thick like custard in a trifle, the day has lasted too long, patience is stressed and frustration is embracing everyone. Still he's surprised Reid hasn't figured it out yet, in fact only Rossi seems to know the tactic. Sure he's angry at Reid like a boss or surrogate father would be, but he isn't at the point of shouting. It's a quiet anger he could display in the form of talking. He also knows from Reid's mental sate that breaking the man down is the only way to get him to talk. It's not like he has anything to gain from telling them what they need to hear, and by the looks of it he doesn't have much more to lose either. He walks up to Reid, menacingly and smiles as the younger man begins to shake a little with fear. "Reid, tell us who you think it is, you were a profiler and you know as well as I do that isn't something you can suddenly stop being. After time it becomes more of an instinct, if you managed to get messages across to us from the Cabin then you can very well do that now understand?"<p>

"I… I have nothing to tell you, I keep saying that I-"

"Does that work?" Hotch asks loudly.

"Does what work?" Reid looks up at him confused.

"Telling everyone you have no idea what's going on so you don't get involved in the politics of the place," Hotch clarifies.

"But I really do-"

"Stop lying Reid, we know you know, what we don't know is why you won't tell us," Rossi says.

"They'll know it's me," Reid looks from Hotch to Rossi.

"How will they-" Hotch starts, almost shouting.

"Because I'm that weird kid," Reid shouts back, "I'm that kid who doesn't fit in so if something goes wrong them it's common psychology to blame the weird one. In society people like everyone to be the same, or similar and I'm not even close to that. I'm weird and a weakling, and they'll happily go after me if they're not caught, they won't want someone who will rat them out," he's breathing heavily, but not glaring at Hotch. Instead, he stares at the table, and Hotch watches him, trying to understand what's going on. Reid didn't want to rat anyone out in case he was blamed for it, this society accepted him as well. So was that all it came down to? Acceptance in his environment? The acceptance he needs to survive. He turns to Rossi who nods slightly. Hotch doesn't want to do this, he really doesn't but it's time for stage four. If they want to get names they will need to crush him, and sometimes the ends justify the means.

* * *

><p>He looks at the young man before him, he's nervous, cadaverously pale and stubborn. So, this is Dr Spencer Reid. The kid the FBI made numerous exceptions for. The kid who managed to get a job that most people in their forties wouldn't have a chance of getting. The kid who was meant to have three doctorates and five degrees.<p>

Rossi is well and truly amazed.

Of course he wouldn't be the first prodigy to drench himself in self destructive means, that doesn't mean to say it's any less of a waste. Never in his life has he seen Hotch act so convincingly angry in an interrogation, and he wonders how close the team were to this kid. "If it makes you feel better Reid you are more likely to be a victim of a random shooting than get found out."

"It doesn't make me feel better," Reid mumbles, knitting his hands together in his lap.

"No, you're right, I suppose your most likely to die from an overdose," Hotch says, his voice level and Reid frowns. Rossi senses what's coming isn't pretty, the tension changes into a nervous electricity, controlled like a marionette by Aaron.

"What are you getting at?" he asks, still not getting it, or at least pretending not to.

"I'm trying to tell you to look at yourself Reid!" Hotch shouts suddenly and stands up again, his voice rising "Look at yourself, you could do any job you want, yet you're living in squats and hanging out with gun toting madmen and prostitutes. So I want to know if it's worth it," he says, "If leaving the FBI was really worth this!" The shouting punctures the drowsy, hot air as the tension reaches a climax.

"This what?" Reid whispers, he's gone pale and he's shaking, Rossi would bet his house than it isn't down to withdrawal though.

"This!" without warning Hotch grabs Reid's arm and pulls up the sleeve, revealing the violent red and purple bruising. "Look at this Reid and tell me what you've done was worth it, that you have something to lose by telling us," Rossi looks at the man, his eyes are on the desk, his whole body shaking unable to look at his arm, Hotch or Rossi.

"Holden Taylor and Peter Caulfield," he mutters staring at the table, "I thought it might have been Jamie Lucas, Dean Stevens, Zack Murphy or Drake Miller, but Dean and Zack are part of a gang, Jamie and Drake are independent of it. It's Peter and Holden that aren't gang members but still try to act better than everyone," he says quietly, he hesitantly looks up at Hotch and Rossi, "Can I go now?" he asks, Rossi looks at Hotch who signals Chief Carmichael to come in. He walks into the room and stops before Reid, "Am I going to jail again?" he asks quietly, looking suddenly drained of energy.

"We're going to keep you here until after the interviews," he turns to Hotch and Rossi, "I'll put him in cell three," Reid looks from Hotch to Rossi before being dragged out by Carmichael.

"Well, that went…" Rossi said and walks to the room to meet the team, Hotch follows. They walk into the small room and Rossi watches amused as the team stare at him.

"Hotch, what the hell was that?" Morgan exclaims.

"I needed a reaction out of him. Right now he's incredibly vulnerable and I needed to wear him down. Anyway this isn't important, we need to see if he's right about the suspects," Hotch says in that voice reminding everyone they're here to do a job. He is their boss and complaints can come later.

They snap into action, and JJ has two officers bring Peter Caulfield into the interrogation room Reid had occupied moments ago. Rossi and Hotch decide to sit this one out and allow Prentiss and Morgan to go ahead with the interview. "Why am I here? I didn't do anything!" Caulfield exclaims. He's as skinny as Reid with brown hair, and has the air of someone who has done something great but ultimately unknown.

"Are you a member of any gangs?" Prentiss asks.

"No, I don't like getting involved in that stuff."

"Why not?"

"Why should I? I don't want to take orders from some drug dealer with a God complex," his voice is filled with contempt.

"Yet your willing to hang out with them?" Morgan asks "Your going to have to explain that a little better as it doesn't add up."

"Some of the guys are alright to hang around with, the ones that aren't as loyal or devoted."

"'Hanging around' with others is different from attending meetings," Prentiss challenges, the man just shrugs.

"So you 'hang around' with them? How do we know you aren't our man? You could have been sitting there, bidding your time, getting to know the field before making a move. They wouldn't see you as a threat, to them you are insignificant, a bug that they can easily step on should they take the time to even notice your existence," Morgan says, his eyes narrowed, the hint of a challenge deep within his brown eyes.

"They don't notice me because I don't want them to," sneered Caulfield, "I like laughing at them, I like looking at how they all take orders from one guy who together they could beat to a pulp. I like how they get so worked up about all the little matters and don't bother to see the bigger picture."

"Which is?" Morgan prompts.

"They're scum. They run around with guns and drugs trying to act big, they don't realise that they're cockroaches. I don't get involved. I am better than them. Why are you keeping me here anyway?" he asks, drawing them back to his original question.

"Well by the looks of it you don't have anything better to do," Morgan says, eying the man with intense dislike.

"Six men have been murdered in the past eight months, the only people that haven't been targeted are the ones that are members of the gang you hang around with."

"So maybe its someone in the gang who wants rid of the competition. You can't really expect me to be killing these people," he says growing incredulous, Rossi turns to Hotch.

"He's a narcissist alright, but I'm not certain he's the unsub."

"Why not?" Hotch asks.

"Look at his manner, he relaxed and cocky, but he's getting nervous. If he'd really killed those people he wouldn't think twice about it. He wouldn't be nervous at being caught because he'd be incapable of thinking he could get caught," Hotch contemplates this for a few moments.

"But Morgan looks threatening, therefore he could just be getting nervous due to that."

"He would feel threatened, but he'd more likely get angry at remembering being beaten, rather than nervous," Rossi explains before turning back to the interrogation.

"I didn't kill those people," Caulfield protests, "What kind of moron would degrade themselves to the extent of committing murder?" he asks. Prentiss looks at Morgan, giving him a silent signal before leaving the room.

"He's not going to crack," she says wearily, "He's nervous and jumpy our unsub wouldn't react like that, he's a narcissist but I don't think he's our guy."

"Guys, he says he has an alibi for the night of Mason's murder. He claims he was with his girlfriend at a restaurant and that they'll remember them," Morgan says entering the room.

"How will they remember him?" Hotch asks.

"It was the Water Rose, and they will because he apparently got into a fight with a waiter," Hotch thinks for a few minutes before turning to Emily.

"Prentiss you go with JJ and confirm that, Morgan go with Rossi and interview Holden," Rossi gets an officer to replace Caulfield with Holden and watches the room through the one way mirror. Taylor is also of Reid's build but with jet black hair. He has an air of importance around him like a modern day Raskolnikov. He walks into the room with Morgan behind him and sits down.

"Is there any need for me to be here?" he asks, looking bored as he examines the room with disdain.

"We need your help," Rossi says, trying a different tactic. He places the crime scene photos in front of Holden who frowns at them.

"What the fuck is this?"

"The bodies of eight men we think you murdered," Rossi looks at his arms, there's no tattoo to suggest he's involved with a gang.

"You think I murdered them?" he says picking up the photos and examining them closely.

"You feel under appreciated, don't you?" Morgan chimes in.

"No, I don't," he says, looking between the two men "This is insane, why would I kill these men? How can you possibly link me to the crime scene?" his voice gets more hysterical towards the end.

"These men are all tougher than you, maybe you lost a fight with one of them and you think by taking them all out you can redeem yourself," Rossi suggests, but Taylor shakes his head.

"I don't get into fights."

"But you were arrested for one ten months ago, you were wounded pretty badly. Would you like to get revenge on the scum that did it?" Morgan says.

"Why would I lower myself to a level further down than him? I put it behind me."

"So you remember your opponent?" Rossi feigns surprise.

"He broke my nose and ribs, why wouldn't I remember?" he states as if it's obvious.

"Well you said it yourself that you wanted to put this whole thing behind you, surely by forgetting your attacker you would be the bigger person," Morgan reasons.

"I didn't forget, but that doesn't mean I sought retribution," he emphasises. Rossi glances down at the file before changing the topic.

"Why do you hang out with the gangs if your not a member?" he asks.

"I don't want to be bossed around, but living in a place like this isn't easy and sometimes you need protecting," he shrugs.

"Why would you need protection? Do you have a lot of enemies?"

"No, but there are some assholes out there that would happily hurt anyone."

"What makes you think a gang can help you if you're not a member and don't have definite enemies?"

"What does this have to do with the murders?" he shouts, his anger back. Rossi sits back, knowing they're not going to beat him.

"Nothing, officer can you take him back to his cell please," Rossi says, when he's gone he goes to see Hotch. "We're missing something but I don't know what, Morgan could you call Garcia and go over all the files of Holden Taylor."

"Sure" Morgan says leaving to make the call.

"You think it's Taylor?" Hotch asks.

"He wasn't disturbed by the photos, he looked almost proud when he saw them. It's worth interviewing the rest, but I think that's our guy."

"At least he's in custody if it is" Hotch says before signalling the officer to bring in the next suspect.

* * *

><p>"Hey Baby Girl" Morgan calls cheerfully in the car park, earning in numerous stares.<p>

_"How's Reid?"_ Garcia asks, Morgan becomes more subdued and sighs.

"He's not that good, worse than after the Hankle case but I have a job for you."

_"Good, I need something to keep me busy."_

"You can't be bored when talking to me Baby Girl, I'm the amazing, smooth talking Derek Morgan" he says hoping that she'll answer cheerfully.

_"You are all those things and more hot stuff, but I need something to distract me from getting the first flight out to LA and stabbing Reid with my colourful, fluffy pencils!"_

"I never knew you condoned violence Baby Girl."

_"I don't, but he needs to be put back on the straight and narrow, anyway what is the job."_

"I need you to look up everything you can on a man called Holden Taylor, look at past jobs, family, everything."

_"I need a difficult job Morgan,"_ she exclaims and she searches. Morgan waits, staring at the city surroundings, _"Found something,"_ she gleefully squeals.

"What is it?"

_"Holden Taylor's parents divorced when he was three, his mother remarried Stephan Sanderson who already had an eight year old son called Martin, however, Taylor kept his surname that's why it never showed the first time."_

"I love you Baby Girl."

_"Oh, I know"_ she replies. Morgan heads back into the police station and is greeted by JJ and Prentiss in the conference room.

"Peter Caulfield's alibi checks out, and we checked with people who knew Holden Taylor, apparently he doesn't have one, what do you have?" JJ asks.

"Garcia looked up Holden Taylor's files, it turns out his step brother is Martin Sanderson."

"That would explain his willingness to hang around with them," Prentiss says, "I think Reid's right on this one," they grow silent at the mention of Reid. Morgan's mind is still filled with images of Hotch interrogating him, he didn't like Reid being treated like that. after all it was Reid! Spencer! The kid who couldn't shoot to save himself, the kid who constantly quoted Star Trek! He figures Hotch, Rossi and Prentiss can finish the rest of the interviews as he walks towards the cells. Reid should be coming down by now, and he wants answers.

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><p><strong>I hope this chapter made sense, and flowed, I know a lot of it was dialogue :S. I hope the interrogations were satisfactory, I'm not very experienced at writing stories centred around cases and it's making me anxious, looking at this story as a whole I intended for it to be more about character development. As for Reid's I just felt a multiple perspective would be better and I hope the chapter makes sense. Anyhoo, I apologise for any grammar and or spelling mistakes. Please read and review :).<strong>

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing, not CM or Reid... sob.**


	7. Man Overboard

_"Lets take some time to talk this over, Your out of line and rarely sober, We can't depend on your excuses, 'Cause in the end it's fucking useless, You can only lean on me for so long, Bring the ship about to watch a friend drown, Sit out on the ledge begged you to come down, You can only lean on me for so long." _Man Overboard - Blink 182.

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><p><strong>6. Man Overboard<strong>

He's sitting with his back against the wall, the cold bricks cooling his warm body. He can think clearer now and he sits, embarrassed and ashamed and wondering if he can defy the laws of physics and sink into the centre of the earth. The sound of footsteps approaching causes him to raise his head. He hopes they'll walk right past him, but he hears the sound of them slowing and coming to a halt before him. "What do you want Morgan?" he asks, looking up at him, "If your here to shout at me Hotch already did that," he knows he comes across as defeated but he can't bring himself to do anything else.

"I'm not here to shout at you Reid, I just want to know why," Morgan's voice is softed but his words are laced with small amounts of anger and hurt betraying his true emotions.

"Why what?"

"Why you quit the BAU? Why you started using dilauded again? Why your sitting in a jail cell? You know the usual questions," Reid smiles at Morgan's attempt to make a joke, although deep down it leaves both men feeling a little sick.

"I understand HOW but I don't understand WHY."

"What was that?" Morgan asks, realising how much he misses Reid's spontaneous quotes.

"George Orwell, '1984' Winston questions the Party that rules his country. He understands how they exert power but he doesn't understand why," Reid pauses for a minute and stares at his battered trainers. "I was tired at watching the dead bodies, tired of knowing what it felt like. I went to support groups and I tried, I really did but…"

"But?"

"Every time I saw a dead body I knew what they were thinking in their last moments, and I knew that with dilauded I could escape without any worries."

"But you were doing okay," Morgan objects, his voice is almost accusing.

"I was, but Gideon left and I stopped seeing a point in the job. I was trained for this, saw it as the ideal job that isn't easy, but you always pull through in the end. Then Gideon just leaves like everyone else, shows that this job fuck's you up more than life can. I'm sorry, I know I should have talked to someone, I just wanted to shut myself off for a few hours. I started using again but I was careful, I used less, in the end I decided I couldn't do the job. I thought I'd be ok when I left but the thing is I was groomed for the FBI, it's the only career I'd considered possible. Nothing matches the excitement, the fear or the thrill. I thought the dilauded would and when I realised it wouldn't I… It was too late," Morgan looks over at Reid, his voice had gotten quieter and quieter, and he realises with a wave of pity that unnerves him completely that the younger man is crying.

Derek Morgan has seen many things: his father die, men so deranged they believed things could be cured with magic, he'd seen his job destroy even the strongest of people. He's been scared, sad, angry, wracked with grief, yet nothing has unnerved him more than the image of Spencer Reid crying and admitting free of embarrassment that he was wrong, that he has a problem.

Because the thought of someone so smart being so completely wrong freaks the hell out of him.

"Spencer are you alright?" he asks, knowing it's a stupid question, but Reid carries on as if he hasn't heard.

"I thought that I wouldn't get this bad, that I'd get a job and quit but… I wanted a fresh start and I thought one of my happiest moments on the job was with Lila in LA," he stops and looks at Morgan, his eyes red rimmed, he gives him a watery smile. "I'm an idiot."

"What about the Aggravated Battery?" he asks, not really sure if he wants to know, but knowing he _has_ to ask.

"Desperate affairs require desperate measures," his eyes try to burn holes in the floor.

"Who said that?"

"Horatio Nelson," they sit in silence for countless minutes, but Morgan can't stop the questions forming in his mind. He came here for answers after all.

"Do you still remember all the bad things, even when your high?"

"Kind of, it's fuzzy and there's blank spots."

"But you still remember?" Morgan presses.

"In the end yeah," Reid sighs, back to staring at his shoes.

"Why do you do it then if you know it isn't worth it?" Reid shrugs.

"I guess when… When addiction plays a part in things logic and reason go out of the window," he pauses for a second, trying to find the right words "What you know to be right and wrong are secondary to what you need, facts don't matter at the end of it," the kid has a point Morgan reasons.

"How did you break your hand,? I know you brow your nose in the assault charge," Reid doesn't answer straight away, instead he stares at the wall in front of him as if he's only half interested in what Morgan's saying. However, soon he snaps out of his focus and turns to Morgan.

"I was high and I fell over… I was fascinated with the idea that it didn't hurt, so I went into my kitchen and punched my fist against the glass until it smashed… It tickled, Paul didn't find it so funny though," Morgan feels a little sick and scared, genuinely scared, at the thought of Reid being so senseless.

"Who's Paul?"

"He kind of looks after me," Reid mutters, and Morgan can tell this insight into his life is rapidly diminishing.

"Looks after you?"

"You know, makes sure I eat and haven't died or something," it's the tone of his voice that makes Morgan snap, the word 'died' just emphasising it.

"Damn it Reid look at me!" Reid turns to face Morgan, if he wasn't being shouted at he'd have enjoyed seeing his friend again. "I watched you get captured and tortured for two days, you died and you fought with all your might to be found. But you're now sitting there, talking to me about dying as if it's nothing, as if it wouldn't hurt anyone… You're wrong, it would hurt us. First Gideon and now you, for god sake kid pull yourself together!" Reid stands and walks towards him. There's a slight desperation in his brown eyes, oceans of hurt and drops of frustration.

"I've tried Morgan, for fuck's sake I'm tried and I've failed over and over again… I, I'm not used to failure but I can't do it, and at the end of it all it's not like I'd get to be in the FBI again and things would be back to normal. I don't know what to do with my life now, but believe when I say I've tried to pull myself together," he looks at Morgan, begging him to understand and with a faint relief he sees a vague sign of understanding in a sea of anger and pain.

"We could help you get back on track you know, get you to a rehab, why not?" he asks when he sees Reid shaking his head.

"I… I don't want to Morgan, I just… Can't you just accept that I'm tired? That I want to go to sleep, that I might want to…"

"Want to what Reid?" he never explicitly finds out what it is, an officer walks up to him.

"They're interviewing Holden Taylor again." Morgan nods and looks back at Reid who has taken up his starting position of leaning on the wall. He doesn't know what else to say.

"I tried kid," he says and he leaves the room.

"I tried too," Spencer whispers but the cry falls on deaf ears.

* * *

><p>Morgan observes Hotch and Prentiss interview Taylor "So your related to Martin, I bet it must have annoyed you when he refused to allow you into his gang," sympathy coats Prentiss's words, "Did that cause you to kill these people?" she asks.<p>

"I never killed anyone," Taylor mutters.

"But you did try to get in," Hotch reassures, Taylor looks up his face a blanket of distress.

"So what if I did? Does it matter, I never got in anyway."

"Didn't you say earlier you had no interest in gangs, that you didn't want to be bossed around?" Hotch stands and looks over at the suspect.

"Oh, that's right, maybe you thought seeing as he's your brother he would let you in, he would ignore the fact that you're a weakling," Prentiss mocks.

"I'm not weak," Taylor whispers, mostly to himself. Hotch and Prentiss share a glance, both seeing that they've found his Achilles Heel.

"Then why were you not accepted? Can you not shoot? Are you too arrogant? You got angry at the lack of acceptance and killed these men to show that you were tough, that you could handle it didn't you!" Hotch's voice rises.

"And you can handle it can't you?" Prentiss smiles, but the plan backfires.

"I didn't kill those people," he protests.

"We already know you don't have an alibi," Hotch argues.

"I was at home!"

"And no one has been able to prove this!"

"Listen Taylor," Prentiss reasons "I don't understand this, you killed these men to prove to your brother you could do it yet you don't tell anyone, I mean was he meant to assume that it was you who killed them because judging by your appearance you don't look capable of it. What's your endgame?"

"He would know I did it though."

"Oh really and how exactly?" Hotch's unimpressed tone intervenes.

"Because-"

"I mean face it you're weak, you couldn't even fight a guy and injure him badly, how do you think your brother would see you? As strong? I think Agent Prentiss and I have had a mistake of suspecting you, you're clearly not capable of murder."

"I've been trying to tell you that!" he doesn't sound relieved, there's a frustrated spark in his eye, he needs someone to know. Hotch looks to Prentiss, tired and closes the file on the desk with a sense of finality.

"Well I guess we're back to square one," he stands and Prentiss follows. "Remind me to reprimand the Agent who thought to look at these" he glances contemptuously towards Holden "Weaklings was a good idea? Now I think about it, it's almost impossible to think someone like him is capable of murder," Hotch is almost at the door when Holden speaks.

"Agent, who says men like me can't take out men like your victims?" his voice is soft, rational and controlled but his mind is anything but. Hotch turns towards Holden.

"I didn't say you can't but its highly improbable," he makes another attempt ot leave when Holden calls him back.

"What if you were to attack them from behind? A first blow to daze them, then you could beat them and hurt them and they wouldn't know what to do. If you lead them to an alley, with minimum security of course, you can hurt then with whatever you can find, like beer bottles, posing the bodies would just be for an ego boost." Hotch stops him.

"Holden Taylor, you are under arrest for the murders of-" Taylor's eyes widen.

"What? Wait! This isn't real it was hypothetical!" his voice is panicked.

"We never told you how the men were attacked, what was done to them, or in fact where they were killed, but you can describe the main events at each murder and have no alibis for the night in question." With that Hotch leaves the room and Prentiss follows, two officers enter to take him to a cell.

"We never got a direct confession out of Taylor, it might not hold up in court," Emily said worriedly.

"We have DNA evidence that should be through later tonight, that should be enough to convict him," Prentiss decides to trust the former prosecutor. They meet the team in the conference room.

The atmosphere isn't that of the usual celebration after catching the unsub, instead they're reserved and subdued. The ending seems different, they were so determined to catch the unsub, and now that they have, they're unsure on how to act. "What do we do now?" Morgan asks.

"We go home," Rossi replies without missing a beat, and proceeds to clear files from the table.

"What about Reid?" Morgan asks, knowing that Prentiss and JJ are thinking the same thoughts.

"What about him?" Hotch questions while helping Rossi pack up.

"We can't just leave him like this," although Morgan knows he's fighting a losing battle. Hotch looks at them, his expression pained but serious.

"We don't have any choice, we have no authority over him. He resigned and where he is, is down to the choices he made," Hotch explains patiently.

"But he's an addict, he can't help-" JJ is silenced with Hotch's stare.

"I know you all see Reid as a younger brother, but remember he's a grown man with a separate life to lead. If he wants help he knows where we are, at the end of the day we're his colleagues, not his family," he looks at the team, they still want to fight it but know they'll just lose. They depart the conference room leaving Hotch alone.

Outside the air is fresh and cool in their lungs. Prentiss wants to get on the plane and leave but at the same time feels something instinctively wrong about leaving Reid behind. She knows however that Hotch spoke sense, he is - however hard to imagine - a grown man who can do with his life what he pleases. But it doesn't make things any easier.

* * *

><p>He decides to get a later flight, to make sure DNA found on the body matches Holden Taylor although he knows it will. The police station is still busy, in fact busier still at night. Hotch checks his watch, knowing he's missed Jack's bedtime. A knock at the door draws him out of his work and he looks to see Carmichael at the door, "Prints are back and they're a match, it's the right guy, there's an officer outside ready to drive you to the hospital."<p>

"Thank you. Goodnight," Hotch knows that Carmichael too has been waiting for the results before he called it a night. Hotch stands and check his watch, twenty past nine, he's running a little late. He packs up his files and heads out of the station. He steps into the cold night air and climbs into the warm car, he knows that this will be awkward and people will be angry, yet deep down he knows this was the best decision. The car drives past street after street and Hotch wonders how far away the hospital is. He wants everything back to normal as soon as possible, but even in his mind things aren't so simple.

He thanks the officer who waits outside as Aaron walks into the blindingly bright hospital. The secretary is a peppy girl of about nineteen, the sort that screams safe and successful. "I'm hear to see Dr Spencer Reid," he says. The woman types and there's that awkward silence when waiting for files to load.

"He's on the third floor, room three hundred and nine. He discharged himself half and hour ago," she says with a smile,

"Thank you," he replies and makes his way towards the lifts, deciding that he's too weary - and a little lazy - to bother climbing the stairs. When he gets closer to the room his nerves grow, yet when he sees Spencer perched on the edge of the hospital bed in the work clothes he wore seven months ago relief floods through him.

"Hey," Reid says smiling and Hotch notices immediately that he's withdrawn and unsure how to act, however he can't blame him.

"Are you alright?" he asks.

"Doctor says that I'm undernourished but I should be okay, and I need to make a doctors appointment when I get back to Virginia." he says, before he gets up and grabs his coat and satchel. "I've been discharged but I decided to wait in case I ran into anyone," he said.

"Good plan, there's a car waiting outside, we can leave," Hotch gives a rare smile, they walk down the hall Reid's uneasiness and curiosity rising.

"So was I right? Was it either Peter or Holden?" Reid asks eagerly, unable to contain his curiosity.

"It was Taylor, and I apologise for shouting at you in the station."

"It's fine," and Reid find he really doesn't mind, that's not what's bothering him anyway "Did the team buy it?" he asks nervously, Hotch gives Reid a weary glance that, for a second, makes the man look a lot older than his age.

"If I didn't know you were working undercover I would have found a way to get you into rehab faster than the speed of light," this unnerves Reid a little and he stays quiet. He's nervous now about the teams reactions, if they'll be angry at him for lying to them. When they exit the hospital Reid looks up at the sky, the stars are invisible due to light pollution, yet it reminds him of the sky in Virginia, after Georgia a star filled sky had never brought much wonder or happiness to his mind.

"Do I have a lot to explain to the team when I get back?" he asks when they're in the police car and driving through the busy streets.

"If I were you I'd arrive at work dressed in a S.W.A.T. uniform," this alarms Reid, unsure whether or not to take Hotch literally, after all the man _never_ jokes.

"Are they that mad?"

"I'm not sure about them but Morgan told me Garcia threatened to kill you," Reid swallows, real fear shivering up his spine. He sits back in the police car and stares at the traffic running past, he wants to go home.

* * *

><p>They reach Virginia at midnight and stumble wearily to Hotch's car, "Thanks for the lift," Reid mumbles, his right hand holding a burning hot coffee cup.<p>

"No problem," Hotch replies, he's tired and knows with joy that the paperwork done at the station earns him an hour extra in his bed.

"Do I get extra vacation time? Two months in jail is not pretty," He tries to joke but his voice is strained.

"Yes Reid you do, in fact I'll be surprised if Strauss doesn't kick you out of the office until next week at least," Hotch says, knowing Reid won't take too much time off, he's seen others do undercover, they need time to adjust but in the end they just want normality.

"But what about the team, should I explain it to them before the week is up, I wouldn't put it past Garcia to fly to LA to drag me back here."

"For Garcia's sake come in tomorrow but take a break Reid, visit your mother or do… Whatever it is geniuses do in their spare time," Hotch says smiling and Reid knows Hotch's informal attitude is down to relief and sleep deprivation.

Most of the car journey is spent in silence as Spencer stares at the streets he's missed so much, the park he plays chess in, the bookstore with a coffee shop where he reads every Friday. He thought, in LA, when he returned to Virginia he would be happy, that he'd just slot right back. But it isn't that easy and he scolds himself for thinking it would be. He doesn't feel like SSA Doctor Spencer Reid, but he doesn't feel like Reid either, he knows he's stuck somewhere in the middle just waiting for the point where things will turn back to normal. Of course he's not so naïve to think that the normal won't be filled with distortion, be corrupted by the lies but over time, he reasons, the feelings of loss will diminish. When the car stops he doesn't move hoping Hotch will understand he needs to talk "What's wrong Reid?" he hears Aaron ask.

"This feels weird, I spoke to Morgan in the station and told him the lies, I'm worried at how mad he's going to be."

"It'll work out, they'll understand and get over it," Hotch says reassuringly, although Reid feels anything but reassurance.

He finds it weird to be back in his apartment, remembering to switch on the lights for Hotch's sake he looks around the room. It's as clean as ever, the familiar books crammed into shelves, his pitiful DVD collection and minuscule TV, his laptop sits at on the desk in the corner. He wanders into his kitchen and finds his shelves stocked with enough food to last him until tomorrow, he makes a mental note to thank Aaron.

Without thinking about it he grabs some towels from the cupboard in the hall and steps into his shower, as the water runs down him he thinks. He thinks about his life for the past eight months and how he had to deceive his friends. He wonders how angry they'll be at him for misleading them. He glances at his arms, six marks in each, he didn't use dilauded, he'd empty the vials, sterilise them and fill them with saline solution, when he thought someone might have to see his arms he shot up the tiniest amount. He remembers another reason as to why Strauss picked him, his doctorate in Chemistry made him aware of the risks.

His way out was easy enough, at the station Carmichael had given him a liquid to simulate death, all he had to do was make it look like an overdose. He knew it was Paul who found him and Spencer feels bad for putting him through that, knowing that he genuinely cared about him, it makes him feel like a bastard. He knew of course Paul wouldn't have stayed with him, he needed to avoid the police and when he woke up at the hospital after a few hours he was told the place was clear of drugs, except the syringe. As he lets the water run down him he feels old, he thinks about everything he had to do in order to keep up a façade. He had to punch his kitchen window to allude to being high, get arrested for drug possession, pretend to break a man's arm - another undercover cop - to get charged with aggravated battery and spend two months in jail. Reid knows there was a lot he was expecting to be asked of him when he joined the FBI, but he honestly couldn't say that those events were part of it.

His growing weariness eventually outweighs his reluctance to leave the shower, and as he wanders about his room in his pyjama bottoms and t-shirt he feels frustrated. He had some naïve hope that perhaps when he went into his flat and had a shower he'd rid himself of the person he'd been for the past seven months. Instead he feels lost, as if he is covered in a casing that separates him from reality and makes him unable to feel like himself. As he climbs into bed with the hall light on to stop the darkness from taking over, his nerves attack. They eat away at his insides like hungry sharks, snapping and twisting until he lies in his bed, drenched in sweat and staring blankly at the ceiling. Turning his head slightly he sees it's three in the morning and he knows his sleep will be fragmented at best, that he'll arrive in the office just after Hotch and probably be surrounded and questioned by the team as if he was an unsub handing himself over.

He curls into the foetal position, shaking and shutting his eyes to the pain in his stomach coiling tighter and tighter. He'd give anything not to have to go in tomorrow yet knows that the event is one of life's unavoidable situations. When he opens his eyes he realises how tired he is but when he closes them he suddenly feels fully refreshed. He knows he could probably search his flat, find a bottle of wine and knock himself out for the night, but then he'd miss work the next day and Hotch would get worried. Every time, no matter how fake, he thinks of the interrogation he mentally flinches. He never imagined he'd been on the receiving end of Hotch's anger, the one time he did in New Orleans he knew he was too stoned to really care. So it's Hotch's wrath, or, the team's confusing and anger. He knows each one is a death sentence. He sighs and lies on his stomach, cuddling into the Darth Vader soft toy that Garcia had bought him years ago. Sleep, he knows, doesn't really matter, it's not like he has a full day of work tomorrow anyway.

Of course it isn't really their reactions that are bothering him, not deep down anyway. Its that thought, that thought that won't go away, that thought that reminds him that after Hankle he could have ended up like that. He know of course that the team would have tried, in a round about way to intervene, but he also knows, in the end, he wouldn't have accepted help, he would have travelled a path that was breaking down from overuse. He knows it would have been a one way ticket. It's with these thoughts that he lets go, lets go his thoughts and emotions, his fears and hopes, he empties his mind long enough to drift off into an abrupt, dreamless sleep.

And when he wakes up the worries flood back, cover him like a layer of paint and dry. When he wakes up he finds he still isn't SSA Dr Spencer Reid. When he wakes up he punches the wall, scared, frustrated and anxious.

He doesn't know who he is, or who he will become, still stuck in the limbo of identities. Yet when he puts on Spencer Reid's grey trousers, purple shirt, brown cardigan, grey coat and beloved purple scarf, he feels himself morph into another character to fill the blank page of his mind. He knows how to act, what to say and how to be. It's just another Act in the play of his life. Shakespeare said the world was a stage for a reason and as he braces himself for the teams reaction, he realises how literal the Bard's words are.

* * *

><p><strong>So there you go, the whole reasons this story gets to come under mystery, I really hope it wasn't a let down and I tried not to make it appear out of the blue. If your confused then message me and I'll explain as best as I can. To <strong>lolyncut**I'm happy you worked it out, I didn't reply because, well the answer was in the next chapter. I would have made this chapter the ending but I wanted to write the team's reactions and give Reid some closure, even though he isn't real... :D. I apologise for grammar and or spelling mistakes and I hope you enjoy. **

**DISCLAIMER: Criminal Minds isn't mine. If it was Thomas Gibson would have had his contract renewed already so my beta Please Insert Name would stop going on and on about it.**


	8. Normal

_"Nothing ever becomes real till it is experianced" _- John Keats

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><p><strong>7. Normal<strong>

They say all things change with time, but Spencer disagrees.

He walks to the tube station, it's the same route he usually goes. As he looks around at his surroundings, lost in the moment of the early morning, he notes it's only the faces that change. It's the faces that get more familiar, haggard, older. He wonders, in a nervous rambling thought, if he looks older. If he has changed. And for one paranoid minute, he wonders if he's acting too differently from his usual self. But after a few minutes this doesn't matter, in the way of all fleeting thoughts it moves from his mind. His thoughts are disorganised this morning. He isn't really concentrating and the nerves that are building up inside him aren't quelled by the thought of coffee.

As he stands on the tube, he notices most of the people that are always there at that particular time of the day. In the carriage, he recognises faces from months ago, all in the same place, never seeming to move forward. He wonders, yet another idle thought, how they can stand life to be so repetitive, so… Underwhelming. When he looks in the mirror he can see nothing but changes, yet his route to work tells him everything is constant. It goes against everything he knows is right, and so he stops thinking.

When he gets to the small coffee shop just a street away from the FBI headquarters, he stands in the all too familiar line and gets served by the all too familiar cashier who usually makes small talk, he doesn't mind.

"Hey your back," she said grinning, "We were getting worried."

"We?" he asks a smile gracing his features.

"I think your coffee intake alone helps keep this place running," she jokes and he laughs. It feels good to laugh.

"I, uh, was on holiday," he tells her in Spencer Reid's usual, awkward manner. She looks at him critically.

"Did you go to Alaska or something?" she asks surprised.

"Russia," he replies, he isn't sure whether she believes him or not but she lets him go, for now. He steps out of the coffee shop and walks towards the BAU, his pace increases. He knows he'll be there earlier than everyone but Hotch, yet he can't help thinking they'll all be there, seeing him come in. He thinks that reoccurring nightmare, that they really imagine him to be on dilauded. The thought brings a wave of shame and fear so strong that he stands, for a minute, at the ground floor or the BAU trying to regain his composure. Or, well, Spencer's composure. He notices as he walks to the lifts that people stare, paranoia creeps up, are they staring at him because they think he's an addict, or because he hasn't shown his face in months?

He figures the reason isn't as important as getting to the bullpen and Hotch's office before the others do. He gets into the elevator and presses the button, it's thankfully empty. He doesn't like getting into elevators knowing the statistical risks, he figures if it stops with someone else inside he'd breakdown completely. It's all too soon that the lift doors open, and he timidly steps out before rushing towards the BAU doors. He's grateful to find that the team's desks are vacant, and in his excitement almost crashes headfirst into the glass doors. He walks into the office, ignoring the further stares, and places his coffee cup on his desk, it isn't out of habit but more out of a sense of formality. Then, like a rabbit in a foxes lair, unsure whether the fox will return, he flees to Hotch's office. He knocks on the door, small timid knocks and practically dives in when he hears Aaron say the usual "Come in". He looks around the office, it's as neat as it's ever been. It's the same.

"I don't know where to hid- uh stay until the team comes in," he explains hurriedly.

"Perhaps the conference room," he glances at his watch, "If you make it there in time, when the team come in I'll assemble them for a meeting."

"Do any of them know?" Reid asks.

"I informed Rossi after your interrogation," this didn't make Reid feel any better, he has never been formally introduced to Rossi, but he never imagined he'd have ever met a colleague while sitting on the wrong end of an interrogation room. "Just try and hide for now," Hotch says, and Reid desperately wants to ask if he can hide in his office, but knows the man probably wants to get work done. Instead, he heads out of the office towards the conference room, before remembering he left his coffee at his desk. He practically sprints across the bullpen to get it, reaching out his hand he grabs it, he doesn't have a chance to run before-

"Reid?" the voice is filled with disbelief and Reid's stomach plunges to depths he never thought possible as he turns to face his colleague.

"Hi Morgan," he all but squeaks, feeling a little bit like the old Spencer, Morgan frowns.

"What are you doing here?" he asks and Reid tries to tell if he's angry, but Morgan's playing his cards well.

"I… I uh… Hotch will explain in the conference room" he says lamely, hoping Morgan won't reply, he isn't that lucky. Reid isn't sure whether or not he feels relieved at the sight of JJ and Emily at the elevator.

"You were in LA though? You were arrested, in fact you're an addict, what the hell are you doing here?" his voice isn't loud, but Reid knows he's hurt and wants answers. As JJ and Emily spot him and walk over he realises he needs to talk, fast.

"I can't explain it here, but believe me there's an explanation," he says, knowing if he'd said he wasn't an addict all hell could break loose.

"Spence…" JJ trails off, and he tries to avoid all of their gazes. He looks over at Hotch's office to find the man getting up to leave.

"Hello hot stuff- Reid?" Garcia stops in her tracks and stares at the boy genius, then, without warning, he feels her hand come in contact with his face.

"Ow, what the fuck?" he moans, accidentally slipping back into his cover.

"Aggravated Battery," Garcia says angrily and Reid feels himself recoiling at her anger.

"I need to see you all in the conference room now," Reid jumps, Hotch is right behind him. Between the lack of sleep, misplacing his coffee and Garcia's slap he's beginning to wish he never got out of bed.

They all make their way to the conference room, Reid stands a little behind them all, and when they all sit down at the table he goes to stand at the windows. Rossi is already there, sitting in an armchair. He nods at Reid, and Reid looks at them all: Hotch is stern, Rossi is calm, and the rest are confused and angry.

"What's going on Hotch? We interviewed Reid in LA, he is…" but apparently Morgan can't continue, Hotch closes the conference room door, and the grave look on his face makes everyone more professional.

"What I'm going to tell you now is of absolute secrecy, the only reason you will know of this is because you worked directly with Reid in this last case," the room is silent, and Spencer is relieved at no longer being the centre of attention. "Eight months ago I was contacted by a police officer in Los Angeles, he informed me of two men who had been killed in a similar area in a similar way, beaten to death. The Chief of Police never believed it to be a serial killer as both men were known to be violent and had several enemies. I looked over the file, and with the way the killings were done it looked plausible. I would have forgotten about it, but it never seemed to go away. I spoke to Strauss about it a week later, and she told me to get in touch with the head of police department if I thought there was a serious threat. I then spoke to Police Chief Carmichael, he didn't believe that there was a serial killer but suggested I get an agent to go undercover to find him. The idea seemed odd to say the least, and risky, but I talked it over with Strauss and we decided that there was most likely a threat, we also decided that if we had to send anyone in then it would be a member of the BAU. We needed a profiler to analyse their behaviour, and of course the community are so close they would never betray one of their own. I looked over the profile and decided to ask Reid."

"Why Reid?" JJ asks, they turn to stare at Spencer.

"The unsub was intimidated by alpha males and those who looked tougher than him, that automatically ruled out Morgan. We needed someone in their twenties who could fade into the background. The environment was male dominated and that ruled out any female agents, in the end Reid fitted the profile," Hotch explains patiently.

"What about the criminal record and the dilauded?" Garcia asks, Aaron looks at Reid waiting for him to explain.

"They couldn't just have me arrive in the community without setting up a back-story, we knew like everyone who goes undercover that I'd have to gain the people's trust. The criminal record was easy, as was the possession charge, and the dealer who's arm I 'broke' was another undercover cop, it was an act. The track marks were a different story. I didn't have the means to fake them with makeup, but on the other hand I couldn't shoot up dilauded two or three times a day. Drug addicts, when going through withdrawal, sometimes like to inject small amounts of other substances such as alcohol in order to get a placebo of relaxation. I rarely acquired real dilauded unless I got it off Martin, in which case I'd empty it in the sink and sterilise the bottle. As long as I injected enough to make it look like I was an addict, and act high at the appropriate moments, they bought my act and eventually accepted me. They would tell me things thinking that I wouldn't remember or care, and I'd get frequent calls from the Police in Los Angeles or Hotch asking me what was happening," he says, they look, to say the least, taken aback, and Reid realises he has been rambling.

"Why did they have to interview you, why couldn't you have just stopped your cover as soon as we arrived?" JJ asks again when then information sinks in.

"For safety reasons," Hotch replies, "We had to make it look convincing, that Reid was genuine, otherwise he could have been at risk, we would have changed his name had it not been a BAU team that would intervene on the case as then we could have blown his cover."

"So you never actually resigned, and you're still working here back on normal cases?" Morgan asks.

"Yeah," Reid replies and he looks at them all, trying to gauge there reactions. They all look shocked, and Reid isn't sure whether or not that's good.

"We never meant to deceive you, and I'm sorry we kept you in the dark about it, but it was for Reid's safety," Hotch says. They stay for a few moments in the tense room, waiting perhaps for another question that won't be voiced. When this becomes clear he turns to Rossi, the two of them leave the younger members of the team to sift through the information they were just given.

"So you're not on drugs?" Morgan asks slowly.

"No," Reid replies, still keeping his distance.

"And your criminal record and resignation isn't true?" Garcia asks, she looks at him her eyes are full of tears.

"They're in a classified file, to any other employers it isn't accessible," Reid explains hurriedly. He looks at them all, waiting for a reaction, Emily is the first to say anything.

"All I can say Reid is you did a bloody brilliant job," her voice is strained, and Reid knows she needs more time to process. Emily then takes this as a cue to leave. The others still sit there, and Reid can hear rain - odd for summer - beating against the windows. JJ looks up at him.

"I'm glad your ok Spence," she walks over to him and gives him a hug, "You really had me convinced," Reid smiles.

"That was the point," JJ returns the smile and leaves, Garcia gets up next, and Reid backs away a little, unsure of her reaction. He's surprised and uncomfortable to be drawn into a hug. With JJ he never minded that much as it was brief and comforting but with Garcia he feels awkward.

"Never do that to me again my Junior G-man," she mercifully lets go, "Have you eaten at all in the past seven months?" she asks.

"Cereal, cold noodles and coffee," he says uncertainly, Garcia stares, and even Morgan's drawn out of his thoughts for a few moments, confused and disturbed by the meals. "Uh, well I had to act like a junkie, and I had little electricity."

"For seven months!" Garcia yells.

"For two months," he assures, Garcia clearly unnerved by this backs out of the room promising to make him cookies.

As the rain slams against the window Reid feels nervous again, it's just him and Morgan in the room, and Morgan's still lost in his thoughts. Before Reid can escape Morgan speaks, "When I spoke to you at the station…" he trails off, Spencer turns to face him.

"I'm sorry about that Morgan," and he really is.

"You were so convincing it was terrifying," the hurt in Morgan's eyes isn't going to go away anytime soon. Reid knows Morgan thinks of him as a little brother, and realises for the first time how much this could alter the team's dynamic. He had never thought of the after effects, only that he'd be home and things would be back to normal, he feels foolish now.

"If I could have told you the truth I would have, honestly I would have and I'm sorry."

"It isn't your fault kid," he says, "It's just a lot to take in," with that Morgan gets up and leaves. Spencer goes to sit on a chair, not comfortable with joining them back in the bullpen, not that he was doing work today anyway. He sits still, his head resting over the back of the chair, being pushed down by gravity. He's listening to the rain, he's missed it so much. He missed how it comes down in heavy droplets and beats the window like a drum, how the water trickles down the windows like a water wave, how it clears everything away and leaves it smelling new. It occurs to him that he wants nothing more but to lie on a stretch of grass and feel the rain pelt down hard on his body, strip away everything of the past year and replace it with serenity. He feels he deserves it.

He doesn't notice when Emily walks into the room, taking slow quiet steps not wanting to disturb him but wanting to speak. "Reid?" his head shoots up suddenly, and it takes him a few moments to register her presence.

"What is it Emily?" he asks quietly.

"I was wondering if you wanted to get coffee after work?" she asks, "Just to talk," usually working with profilers means second guessing every move, but Reid knows exactly what Emily wants to talk about, and oddly enough he finds he doesn't mind.

"Sure, I was thinking about staying in the office anyway," he doesn't want to admit here that it feels too weird to stay in his apartment. She nods, as if she understands, and as she leaves Reid back to his thoughts it occurs to him, perhaps she really does.

He stays there for a few more minutes, but the magic's lost, the feelings of peace and simplicity that had engulfed him have gone, leaving a despairing yet agonisingly numbing reality to press down on him. Trying for a few more minutes in vain to capture the moment, he stops, sighs and stands, making his way to his desk to read a book or play chess against the computer. He has nothing that needs to be done, yet something is routing him to the BAU.

He spends the rest of the day reading or playing chess on the computer, the computer rarely wins. He gets coffee every now and then but mostly keeps his head down trying to ignore the team's reactions. Reid often finds, at odd moments, Morgan or JJ staring at him as if he'll disappear at any minute, when they're caught staring they pretend to be doing something else, but are unembarrassed about being caught. Morgan sometimes speaks to Prentiss, yet when he joins or attempts to join the conversation it gets strained, it's not as if Morgan is deliberately trying to block him out its just as if Reid's… Angered him in some way, or hurt him. When he thinks about it, he sees he probably has. Garcia, who he visits once when stuck on some random piece of Star Trek trivia, treats him as if he never left, although adds some extra mollycoddling in, most likely do to his unhealthily thin frame. She apologises for slapping him which he tells her he probably deserved, they chat about Star Trek and Lord of the Rings, and it's as if he never left, it's like the old mini Trekkie, Lord of the Rings and Star Wars conventions they used to have in their free time. When he leaves her office he's slightly more upbeat about things, he scurries back to his desk to do some more reading.

But the good feeling doesn't last long, and soon it drains out of him replacing a numb detachment. As he looks around the BAU, almost scared, he wonders how long things will take to get back to normal. How long it will take for Morgan's unreadable gaze to become friendly? How long it will it take JJ to accept that he's here and not continuously walk past his desk? He needs to know how long it will take for things to get back to normal.

Then he remembers, things here have never really been normal anyway.

* * *

><p><strong>This is NOT the last chapter. I couldn't resist adding the team's reactions or Reid talking with Prentiss (hence the pairing.) I tried to make it romance but I thought it would be kind of detracting, and that Reid would have enough to deal with aside from a relationship. Anyway I apologise for the wait and hope you enjoyed it, I hope the team's reactions were ok I don't write team fics a lot, or ever for that matter :P. <strong>

**The reason Reid never used a fake name, just incase it was missed, was that a team from the BAU would investigate the murder's and automatically recognise Reid and know something was up. I know the explainations are faulty but at the end of the day I'm super tired and really hope y'all allow for some creative licence, I suppose fanfiction itself is extreme creative licence. I apologise for grammar and or spelling mistakes, the sun makes me sleepy, it rarely visits Scotland lol. **

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Criminal Minds, sigh...**


	9. A Hollow Victory

_"Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment" - _Siddartha Gautama (Buddha)_  
><em>

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><p><strong>9. A Hollow Victory<strong>

In the last hour before getting coffee with Emily, he rests his head on his desk and just listens. Listens to the sounds of the BAU he's missed so much, the typing, talking and chatter which means nothing to him. He grips onto his desk, thinking suddenly with a scare that it might disappear, that this might be a hallucination. As he sits up, he notices Emily watching him, and he knows that she notices his odd behaviour, he also knows the others are probably oblivious, more trying to get over the shock of seeing him. He wonders if she understands how he feels numb and unsure, or if she's just profiling him as if he were an unsub. He doesn't learn the answer, the question goes out of his head as soon as the clock strikes five and people start gathering their things. He notices that it's almost as if a movie's ended and the credits are rolling, the way everyone almost gathers their belongings in unison.

"Reid are you coming?" Prentiss asks, he jumps having not noticed her get up and stand beside him.

"Yeah, sorry, just let me get my things," he says, cramming various books into his satchel. The others say bye or wave as Reid gets ready. When he moves to leave the office, he notices with amusement that the place is deserted... well except from Hotch's office, but Reid suspects he's an android.

They're quiet in the lift on the way down and keep the silence up until they're sitting in Emily's car. The rain hits the roof and streams down the windows, it's completely silent, it's that car's silence that's peaceful and unbearable all at once. Reid sits back, resting his head on the back of the seat.

"Where do you want to go?" her words explode into the air and shatter the atmosphere, he shrugs.

"I don't mind," and he really doesn't. They drive for awhile, and never once does Reid ask her where they're going. He wants the detached feelings to go away. He isn't surprised when she parks near an all hours diner, knowing with happiness that they will sell coffee. He thanks her for the lift, and they get out. Despite his eidetic memory, no time seems to have passed between getting out of the car to sitting in an out of the way booth at the diner, cups of coffee in their hands. Reid looks nervously at Prentiss, unsure of where to begin. "I… Why did you ask me here Emily?"

"You look like you needed to talk," and it occurs to Reid that this is the case. He knows Emily, they've been on cases, and she was worried about him after Hankle, but they were never close, they don't have any major history. He knows if he spoke to Morgan and JJ he'll have to edit his worries, he'll get answers he already knows, but if he speaks to her he doesn't have to edit, to worry about being judged. He looks at her open, encouraging look at smiles weakly.

"How long do we have?" he asks, not wanting to keep her from any plans.

"All night if you want," she says and he nods, finally understanding that she is no stranger to the emotion's he's feeling, she's been where he is now. It's this thought that makes her easier to talk to, but he isn't really sure where to begin. As if she can read his mind she tells him, "Begin at the beginning then go on till you come to the end: then stop,"

"Alice in Wonderland, chapter twelve," Reid grins, and tries to form his thoughts into a coherent sentence. He takes his time, reminding himself they have all night, and without thinking begins to tell her his worries, his frustration and fears.

She listens without complaint, and gives him guidance where needed, Emily looks at Reid and realises how much the young man has changed. The things he tells her, she realises, he will never trust with anyone, yet she is hardly a someone in his life. She knows this is a rare moment of insight into the inner workings of the young man's mind. His posture is relaxed yet guarded at the same time, uncertain, but also alert and confident. It's a stance that is alien to the Reid she knows, it's then she treats him as a stranger, like he is no doubt viewing her as. Emily Prentiss sits back and listens to the words coming from Spencer's Reid's mouth, she understands how he's feeling better than he knows. She knows that undercover operations change you regardless and, as Emily watches Reid, she notices the different mannerisms, the different attitude that radiates off him.

If it's for better or for worse she can't tell.

"I just want the team would trust me again," he says, knowing that she knows that 'the team' means Morgan, JJ and Garcia.

"That will take time," Emily says slowly, and Reid can tell she's trying to gauge his reaction, all he gets is confusion, although he feels he should know what she means.

"I understand that they could be confused but…" he trails off. He takes a sip of his coffee waiting for her reply, and stares down at the banana pancakes she made him order 'You need to eat something,' she had said. They make him feel naseous. He thought things would be easier than this, he thought he was smart enough to keep two lives separate then slot back into his real one. He knows which life is real he just isn't sure how to slot back.

"Why don't you look at it from their perspective," she answers cautiously as Reid looks up, his expression unreadable, "When I first joined the team I noticed how everyone was like this close knit family with you, no offence, as the baby. You were friendly, painfully shy, and innocent. Then the Hankle case came up and we saw you being tortured, you died, it killed them to see you like that and they hoped, I imagine, that once you were found everything would turn out back to normal." She pauses to take a sip of her coffee and secretly gauge his reaction.

"You were off for two weeks, then you came back, and the psych evaluations told us nothing was wrong with you. We all thought you were snappy at first simply due to PTSD, when it didn't go away I came up with other suspicions, Hankle was after all addicted to narcotics and you showed symptoms of being high or withdrawing-"

"When?" Reid asks, his face pale but his expression still indecipherable. It held and air of seriousness and professionalism that she's never seen before.

"There were various times, but the morgue in New Orleans stands out the best, your eyes were glazed over, then you missed the plane to Galveston and if just conformed our suspicions-"

"Who knew?"

"As far as I'm aware only Hotch, Gideon and myself suspected anything. It's not the point though, we all knew in some way you were suffering. After that you started to get better, and things were beginning to return to normal. Gideon left, but you seemed to be coping, then the day before Rossi arrives you barge through the BAU shouting at Hotch and begging to leave. We all thought at first you were kidding, that you weren't putting any thought into it. But when you never showed for months we saw it was real, Morgan and JJ tried with Garcia to stop your resignation going through but they failed," she pauses and takes another sip of her coffee before continuing

"Seven months later we get a call to go to LA, we find you there completely out of your mind, and learn of this unbelievable criminal record. You'd been in jail, you were using drugs, you were most definitely not Spencer Reid. We watched as Hotch and Rossi interviewed you as a suspect and how you completely broke down. I saw the looks on JJ and Morgan's faces, they didn't want to believe it. In the end we caught the unsub and flew home, finding it slightly odd that Hotch was staying behind, yet the thought of you being undercover - no matter how desperately we wanted to believe - seemed like false hope. Then it's Wednesday, and your standing in the BAU like that never happened, like we didn't see you less than twenty four hours ago in an interrogation room with track marks. We're told that the whole absence was an undercover operation that we couldn't be told about, that you were actually fine, and after a small break ready to get back to work!" Reid winces at the anger Prentiss accidently lets slip into her voice. "It isn't something most people can take lightly Reid. I still have trouble accepting it so imagine what the others are going through," her tone is slightly more neutral, and she drinks the rest of her rapidly cooling coffee. In the silence a waitress pours them some more. The young genius rubs his eyes and exhales slowly.

"I'm sorry for that, really I am," he said quietly, he looks up at her, "How can you accept this so readily? I know we were never close, but it's as if you've been here before," Emily smiles.

"Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies," he sits back in defeat, staring at the white plastic table. "What's wrong?"

"I don't want them thinking I'm an addict," he murmurs, he looks up but sees she doesn't buy it.

"I've been honest with you Reid," she points out, he takes a sip of coffee and ponders his reply.

"I'm scared, confused," he admits finally.

"What's scaring you?"

"What if I had turned out like that? What if I had completely lost control for real?" He doesn't need to clarify.

"We wouldn't let it get that far," she knows he won't believe her, she doesn't even believe herself.

"You would hardly be able to stop me, I wouldn't listen, I'd get fired," his voice trembles, but his face still remains a mask.

"We'd find a loophole." His laugh is more bitter than he thought it would be.

"That's all it is as the end of it, loophole after fucking loophole… Maybe I'm not meant to be in the FBI if I'm incapable of half the job requirements," he mutters.

"Bullshit!" she says sharply "The work you did in LA proves that you are FBI material, whether you can shoot well or not," Reid doesn't answer immediately, his head is too full of thoughts.

"Do you think, the rest of them think I was using?"

"It's illogical, if you were then you'd be withdrawing right now and you wouldn't have found the unsub," she looks closely at Reid, knowing he's hiding something.

"But what if I had slipped up from time to time?" he asks, and Emily realises although knows he will never confirm it, that this conversation has left the status of hypothetical.

"You were around dilauded almost twenty four seven, slipping up once or twice then refraining from using in itself is incredibly strong," she's trying to make him feel better, he realises, he isn't sure if he'd rather have her shouting at him.

"What happens if I want to use now?"

"You fight it."

"What if it isn't that easy?" he whispers, allowing his mask to break for a fraction of a second so Emily can see the fear. "I know I shouldn't, I know where it leads, but it doesn't stop the craving. In my head, I can remember the first time I used, revisit it and how great it feels, what if it all gets too much? My whole life everyone around me has left whether, my dad, my mom, Gideon, but the dilauded, it's a constant, it's disposable, but there will always be more of it and, it can always make me feel…" he can't continue, he realises how needy and pathetic he sounds, and he glances up at her expecting pity, scorn or laughter. Instead he sees compassion, no pity or mocking or anything other than understanding. The comfort wraps around him, it feels nice.

"It's the power of the addiction, the anatomy of it, it's ability to overrule even the most sound reasoning. But if you managed to fight it in LA, here shouldn't be as difficult. Go to meetings, think about what you would lose and where you could end up," he knows she's right. They sit in silence for awhile, listening to the rain beat down on the windows. She watches him closely, his expressions, how seven different emotions can flicker behind his eyes in the space of two minutes. She's completely taken aback by it, in all the time she's known Spencer - admittedly not a lot - she has never seen him so vulnerable, seen him so ready to display his emotions. It unnerves her slightly.

"I know," he says after an age "I know why Hotch placed me on the case, sure I fit the profile but a lot of guys do, I knew what it was like to be high, to comedown and withdraw. I knew how to act, how defensive to be… It seems stupid,"

"What seems stupid?" he looks up at her, confused and desperate for answers.

"Stupid to put me there anyway, I'm… I'm an addict I could have slipped up the moment the dilauded was in my hands, I could have ruined everything."

"You wouldn't have though," Prentiss states "I know you Reid, not personally, but I know you well enough to know that you wouldn't have let all that work go to waste, you wouldn't have compromised a case so you could be detached, logically it made no sense to use," and it's at this moment he realises why he accepted her offer of coffee. Why he's sitting at eight at night at a dinner talking about things he wouldn't tell anyone else. JJ and Morgan would tell him he was too good to go back to it, that he was too moral, too Spencerish. Emily tells him what he needed to hear, he wanted to, God he wanted to, but logically it never made sense and in the end, for Spencer, logic (almost) always wins.

"It still seems stupid, that risk would always be there."

"Reid, Hotch trusts you enough to believe that you wouldn't relapse," Emily says softly.

"How can he trust me? I… I stole drugs off a dead man, I lied and snapped at people and almost threw away everything, how can that lead to trust?" she tries to hide her shock, she knew he was using dilauded, but taking it off a dead man, off Tobias, is just, it disturbs her.

"You got clean though," she tells him after she regains her composure "You managed to stay clean even though Gideon left, you stopped letting it affect you as much. Trust can build from there,"

"I guess," he says quietly, turning the empty mug around in his hands. The thought of Hotch trusting him wasn't as comforting as he thought it would be. "How do you revert back?"

"Hmm? What?" Prentiss moves her gaze from the window to Reid.

"How do you just revert back to your old life so quickly? How can you walk day in day out like nothings happened? I was in jail, they put guns at my head, so how the fuck am I meant to be normal again?" The venom in his voice leaves her slightly taken aback, however she scolds herself, she should have known he'd be angry.

"You don't," he looks at her, his brown eyes half fearful, half blazing with anger, and as though she's grown a second head.

"Then what do I do?" it's spoken through gritted teeth "I feel like a stranger in the BAU and a stranger in my own house, my mom keeps sending me letters and I can't be who she's writing to. I know it's only been a few days but how do people cope with this?" Emily doesn't answer at first, partly in an attempt to get Reid to calm down and partly because she isn't entirely sure what to say to him.

"Act how you feel appropriate, if you feel like joking and the timing's good then joke, if you feel like being serious then be serious," he gives her a confused look and she tries again, "Forget about trying to act like the Spencer we know, and stop feeling bad if you try and miss the mark, we won't blame you. Everyone needs time to adjust to this, in the meantime act in ways that feel comfortable, be your new self and maybe you will revert back slightly to the Spencer we know, but it doesn't matter if you do or not, as long as you're here," he doesn't say anything for a long moment. He stares at the plastic table, turning his coffee cup in his hands.

"Time changes everything," if Emily picks up on this she doesn't say anything.

Emily sits with him for a little longer but as the clock snakes closer towards Thursday she knows they have to leave.

"Reid?"

"Yeah," he says, looking from the window to her.

"We should probably go now," his face dawns with realisation.

"Oh! Sorry I-" she smiles at his panic.

"Reid it's fine, you needed it."

"Yeah," he says and they get up, stretching and wondering if their limbs could be in anymore pain.

"I won't be in the office tomorrow," he says when they're in the cold, rain drenched car.

"I'd be surprised if you were," she says "Are you going to visit your mom then?"

"On Saturday, I need to rest first," he says. "Thanks," he murmurs.

"Anytime Reid," he yawns despite the coffee. Although he's noticed a change in the atmosphere, a change in his relationship with Prentiss. It's a peculiar bond of trust that is stronger than that of friends, but different from lovers. He knows he can confide in her if he needs to and he hopes she can do the same to him. They drive through the rainy streets in a comfortable silence.

"I'm sorry I was a jerk to you, after Georgia," he says awkwardly.

"It's fine Reid, it wasn't really you acting like that anyway. Now is your apartment down here?" she asks.

"Uh, next street down" he says peering out of the window, the rain is relentless. They drive round in silence, before he can get out she puts a hand on his arm, he turns to face her.

"When you were undercover, did you ever slip up?" she asks, and it's completely unprofessional, out of sheer curiosity. He gives her an ambiguous smile.

"Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies, right?" he says and opens the car door "Thanks for the lift Emily," he says again and closes the door. He turns away from the car and walks into the hallway, he can hear her drive away. Using the last ounces of his energy he climbs quickly to the third floor, and unlocks his door before stepping in. Looking around his home he realises he's still estranged from it all, he leaves his satchel behind the couch and moves straight to his bedroom.

He loosens his tie and sits on the end of his bed, he runs a hand through his damp hair. He thinks back to his conversation with Emily, the idea that Hotch trusts him, that eventually things will return to normal. Reid desperately wants to believe her. The knowledge of trust changes something in him, although he can't figure out exactly what it is he knows it will stay with him. It stops him from accepting narcotics when he's infected with anthrax, stops him from relapsing when he's shot in the leg by an unsub, that causes him to stay clean after Owen Savage runs out of the blue, weilding a gun, and threatens to smash his strengthening sobriety to pieces.

However, oddly enough, it's Emily that comes back to him when he's lying on his room floor, the curtains drawn, his mind exploding in pain. Emily who stands between him and the phone, and tells him to hold out until work when dilauded is no longer an option. It's Emily who stops him from slipping up when she's buried, he knows deep down she wouldn't want him to mess up even though this and the headaches make him unable to sleep and his one confidant is gone. Even when the pain in his head subsides he'll still scream and yell over the fact that she couldn't trust him with Doyle enough to help her. He'll curse and torment and kill himself over the fact that he wasn't there for her, that moments of doubt creep into his mind telling him that, maybe, he never was. Yet somehow, to slip up after all this time…

The idea barely entertains his thoughts.

However these events are far, far way from the young man, sitting on the edge of his bed pleading for everything to return back to normal. And right now, all he wants is closure, a closure that no words or chemical can bring him. At some point, he knows, he'll have to return to the real world, live and sleep. But right now, he can think of nothing more relaxing that to sit on the edge of Spencer Reid's bed and contemplate nothing. Maybe things will go back to normal, maybe they'll be changed forever, he doesn't know, the future is in constant flux after all.

Spencer… Reid… or whoever he is lies back on the bed and stares at the ceiling, craving what he can't have, what he shouldn't mess with. Words from a lifetime ago come back to him and replay over and over in his mind. Is that what is comes down to? A hollow victory, feelings of anger, hurt, numbness but deep down confusion. It's a mocking yell, a predictable phrase. It's the same after Georgia, almost runs parallel to it's original context, a broken victory, but a victory is always good, right? He opens his mouth, but his voice isn't his own, he doesn't know who he is or what he should sound like. But he realises now, all to well, what Elle felt like. He speaks as though she can hear, a bitter toast, an understanding. Perfect cadence endings are a myth. His voice is dull, flat, dead.

"Here's to winning."

* * *

><p><strong>So there it is, the fic is over. I hope the ending was alright as I just couldn't find a way to end it, I never wanted Reid to be magically fixed and have everything to return to normal. I thought it was kind of similar to Elle's exit, the PTSD and the change in attitude, and at the time when this happened to her, he thought that every win was good and obviously he realises that this isn't the case. Anyway I hope you enjoyed it. This was the closest I could get the PrentissReid romance, I tried but I just couldn't do it so I hope it's satisfactory, this chapter was just for my own satisfaction :P. I apologise for any grammar and or spelling mistakes. **

**I want to thank everyone who's put up with this story, reviewed it, alerted it, added it to favourites or even just read it and made it this far, you deserve medals :D. And thank you for not completely hating it :D.**

**DISCLAIMER: If I didn't own Criminal Minds three days ago I highly doubt I (checks e-mail just to make sure)... Yup I highly doubt I will own it now.**


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